


Butterfly Kisses

by JenKristo, motherofrevels



Category: Onward (2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Brother/Brother Incest, Bullying, Facials, Fluff, Grinding, Incest, Kissing, Kissing Lessons, M/M, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 115,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25946101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenKristo/pseuds/JenKristo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherofrevels/pseuds/motherofrevels
Summary: Ian never expected that a kissing lesson between brothers would shake the foundation of secrets that he’d kept for far too long.
Relationships: Barley Lightfoot/Ian Lightfoot
Comments: 169
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

Barley parked in front of Lily’s house, cutting the van’s engine. There was a moment of silence before they both spoke at once. 

“I had a nice night with you-” Barley said. 

“That was a good campaign,” Lily said. “Oops. I mean, I... had a nice night too.”

“Ah.. I’m glad,” Barley said, feeling awkward. Inwardly, he cringed. Quests of Yore night with their mutual friends had gone well, but the time they’d spent parked near the lake had been… well… Barley wasn’t sure. He _wanted_ to think of it as ‘nice’. Lily seemed to be a little shy outside of gaming, and it was sweet. 

He leaned in to kiss her and she pulled back and pecked him on the cheek instead. His brows drew together. “Everything alright?”

Her eyes widened, and she nervously ran her fingers through her hair. “Yeah, of course.” Then after a moment she added, “You know what? _No._ Look, you seem like you’d be a great fit for . . . _someone_ ? Someone _else_ , I mean. But to be honest,” she trailed off, brows quirking as she blinked at the dashboard before returning her attention to the man at her left, “I just . . . don’t think there’s really anything here for us to work with? You’re a little _much_ for me. And _while_ I’m being honest? Not that great of a kisser.”

She shifted in her seat then, shoulders hunched slightly as though she’d been exposed.

Barley’s mouth had fallen open. “Oh. Huh.” He sat back in his seat, staring at the steering wheel. _Nothing to work with? A bad kisser?!_ He felt like he’d been hit with a spear. Lily’s Quests of Yore character wielded a spear, and now it seemed fitting. “Jeez. I’m sorry, Lily.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I’m glad you’re not upset.”

He smiled at her weakly, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, no! Yeah, I’m not upset… Totally, it’s not… I’m fine.”

“Good,” she tossed, heaving an audible sigh of relief. She already appeared to feel better. “And we can still be friends, of course. It was only a few dates, anyway. Right?”

“...Yeah.”

Lily’s smile was broad, but uneasy. “Okay, so I’ll see you next _Friday_? You can still drive me to game night, right?”

“Uhh.. Yeah, of course.” As Lily opened her door, Barley unbuckled his seatbelt. 

“Oh, you don’t have to walk me in,” she said quickly.

“I don’t mind,” Barley said. At this point he was on autopilot. He felt a little queasy. 

“No, really,” she insisted. “You might as well not. Since we’re not, you know. I don’t want my parents to get the wrong idea, like we’re still . . . You know?”

Apparently Barley was supposed to know a lot. He nodded and buckled his seatbelt again, as his- no-longer-girlfriend stepped out and closed the door behind her.

**• • •**

When Barley returned home, he didn’t see his Mom’s car in the driveway. He went into the house and over to the kitchen, where he heard dishes clinking in the sink. Ian stood there scrubbing a plate.

“Hey. Where’s Mom?”

The off-colored timbre of Barley’s voice lit Ian’s ears, causing the lanky mage to cast a lingering glance over the perpendicular slope of his shoulder. “ _Oh_ ! Hey, Bar . . . ley,” came his broken greeting, the luminescence of his doe eyes quickly dimming at the telltale wilt in his brother’s ears. “Y-You _just_ missed her. She finished dinner, then left for another _‘Ladies’ Night’_ with Corey,” he informed, tone uncertain as he abandoned his scrubbing in an attempt to catch Barley’s gaze.

“Is . . . Is everything _okay_?” He offered a shy smile, brows pinching in concern as he quickly rinsed his hands and dismissed his work. “Did you have a bad game?”

Barley leaned against the counter, hands shoved into his pockets. “Nah, it was a good game.” He chewed on his lip. Ian seemed to be watching him, and so he continued. “Lily… um…” He moved to the fridge, plucking out a can of soda. He took a sip and swished, feeling like it might get the bad taste out of his mouth. He swallowed and said, “She dumped me. Kind of took me by surprise.”

Ian’s brows raised then, eyes widening briefly, before softening once more. His head tucked in disappointment, cerulean curls bouncing a bit as he fidgeted in his place.

“ _Oh_ . . .” he trailed off, not entirely sure what to offer in the moment as he mimicked his sibling’s earlier action of chewing at his bottom lip. “I’m _sorry_ , Barley. That’s . . . I-I know that _hurts_ ,” he offered, pursing his lips before producing a gentle smile.

He considered stepping closer to the Quest Master, pondering the action of extending him a hug, or at least a pat on the shoulder. But the junior Lightfoot wasn’t accustomed to seeing his elder in such a state.

It wasn’t unwelcomed. Barley was allowed to express an emotion outside of joy. It’s just that these alternative states of expression came so infrequently, that when Ian was faced with them, he found himself uncertain.

“Do you . . . wanna _talk_ about it? I-I’m _here_ for you, if you do,” the young wizard assured, tone laced with a strange hopefulness.

Barley blew a breath out from between his lips. “You know at some point in life I expected to be the one giving _you_ advice and reassurance about the world of romance. But here I am, twenty-one years old, and I still don’t have it together.” He glanced at Ian sideways, cringing. “You wouldn’t mind?”

Ian’s baby-doll eyes gleamed with something warm, yet unreadable as he gnawed at the crescent pout of his lower lip to tuck away a smirk. 

“ _N-Not at all,_ ” he smiled sheepishly, lashes lowering as he eyed the tiled floor beneath the elder Lightfoot’s feet. “L-Let’s sit down,” he called, pivoting a delicate wrist in a beckoning motion. 

He strode gingerly through their cozy little home, reaching the vintage sofa at the helm of their living area, and plopped down upon the left-most pillow. 

“S-So . . . what exactly did she _say_ ? What went wrong? Did she . . . e-even _mention_ it?”

“Oh she mentioned it, alright,” he said, sinking onto the other side of the couch. He still felt a little sick over what had happened. He pulled off his hat and scrubbed at his hair. And then his hands dropped to his knees, fidgeting nervously. “It’s just kind of humiliating,” he said, to explain his hesitation. And then he recounted the exchange as best as he could. At the end he said, “And to boot, I’m apparently a bad kisser.” 

Iandore listened intently, chocolate gaze flickering here and there to catch the stray gesticulations and subtle movement’s that accompanied the stocky man’s story. He felt a bit guilty, but several times throughout Barley’s tale of woe, the freckled conjuror found himself pursing his lips to bite back little grins here and there. The way his sibling expressed himself so vividly through his hands and body language, had always amused him. He knew it wasn’t a happy event. Barley was clearly upset. Visibly frustrated. But it was all so sincere, and Ian found a simple charm in that sincerity.

“A bad kisser?” he inquired, brows raised in wonder as he crossed his willowy arms. “I . . . That’s not true. I-It _can’t_ be. Barley, you’re so _bold_ ! Y-You’re _confident_ ! It doesn’t make any sense. She must have been trying to make you feel bad,” the younger argued, tone fluctuating between nervousness and reassurance. “U-Unless . . .” he trailed off, arms unwinding from their place across his ribs, “Do you _agree_ ? With what she said? A-About your _kissing_?”

“Ugh..” Barley rubbed his face with his hands before returning them to his knees. He shifted at an angle so he could talk to Ian more directly. “Before tonight I would’ve said I had no idea. But the whole ride home I was thinking about how it had been, and… agh... I think she was kind of resisting both times we made out. I thought she was being shy, but what if she wasn’t? What if I just sucked at it? Anyway, Lily’s nice. I don’t think she’d try to hurt me. She was just being honest. Trying to do me a favor.” 

Ian’s brows drew into the faintest hint of a frown at his elder’s final admittance. 

“ _Barley_ ,” he began, hand wavering a bit in his lap before reaching across to rest against his brother’s arm, “N- **No**. _Absolutely_ **not**.” 

The warm skin and surprisingly solidus texture of his elder’s bicep always caught the frail spellcaster off guard, and for a brief instant, he lifted his fingers away in surprise; shifting himself closer and replacing his touch a moment later. 

“What she _said_ to you back there? That wasn’t doing you _any_ favors, man. That was . . . That was _mean_ . She didn’t have to _say_ all that to you.”

As he explained, he found his touch had lingered a bit too long, and he found himself moving it to rest against the warm strength of his sibling’s upper back instead. 

“W-What is it _like_ , for you? _Kissing_ , I mean? I-Is it . . . _exciting_ ? Are you _nervous_ ? What’s your _warmup_ like? . . . D-Do you even _have_ a warmup?”

Barley felt Ian’s hand on his arm and then his back. And although it was small, it had a large presence for him. That alone had him slightly more at ease. He quirked a brow. “What’s a warmup?”

Ian’s eyes widened a bit, his hand sliding in its place upon his brother’s back. 

“L-Like . . . What do you do to go from a, uhm . . .” he swallowed thickly, pulling the softness of his hand away and back into his lap as his posture tensed. “How do you transition from a _shallow_ kiss, into a _deeper_ one?”

His eyes betrayed him then, flickering to his elder’s mouth on instinct as he pondered the possibilities of an unskilled kiss ushered forth by lips that relayed such luminous wonder and positivity.

“I-I’m _sorry_ , Barley,” he smiled sheepishly, “M-Maybe _I_ don’t even know what I’m talking about, _huh_? Y-You’ve probably done this a _million_ _times_!” the younger man stammered, chuckling nervously here and there as he went. “Y-You’re probably a _pro_ . . .”

“Psh, yeah right,” Barley said, gently nudging Ian’s shoulder with his arm. But even while being gentle, Ian’s whole body swayed from the contact. Barley said, “I’ll be honest with you, Ian. I’ve kissed a total of three girls ever, and I’ve only ever _made out_ with Lily.” He glanced at Ian for a reaction, almost entertained in a self deprecating way.

Freckled lips slipped into a tender smile as Barley went; but his raw admittance broadened that smile into a playful grin. Full brows raised, fawn-like eyes rounded, and the svelte summoner tried his best to bite back a giggle.

“Y-You’re . . . You’re _joking_ , right?” he quipped, lashes lowering as he narrowed his eyes in skepticism.

But the sheer honesty in the brawny man’s admittance wasn’t to be questioned, he realized.

“ _Dude_ . . . **Wow** ,” he breathed, giggling once more; the crystalline sound of it filling the stuffy silence of the living room with merry chimes.

“ _Uhm_ ,” he giggled again, reaching across to rub his brother’s lap briefly. “ _Look_ , I think that’s . . . That’s _really_ awesome, Barley,” he admitted, trying to hold his brother’s gaze as he spoke. “I-I’ve . . . had so many kisses I . . . _regret_ ,” his eyes softened then, a hint of something unseen just beneath the surface. “I’m _proud_ of you, man. You want it to be _special_ . I think that’s _cool_ ,” he nodded, luminous eyes seeking to reinforce his words with a gentle earnestness.

“B-But we’ve gotta figure out how we can find you a better experience . . . And I think that has to start with _you_.”

His tone was slow, methodical, and calm; but still held a tinge of uneasiness.

“Y-You have someone to just . . . _Fall back on?_ A girl who just . . . likes to be _around_ you? Someone you see _regularly_?”

Barley gave him a flat stare as his brother giggled. And being proud of him? It was like salt in the wound, and sugar with it. And then he frowned at the last question. “Yeah I guess? I have friends who are girls. But what do you mean, ‘fall back on’? Like make out with one of them just because?”

An uncharacteristically sly little smirk tugged at the left side of Iandore’s bow-shaped lips; innocent eyes flitting to the bristle at this brother’s chin, before dropping to the collar of his well-worn band tee just beneath. 

“ _Something_ like that.” 

His voice was warm and syrupy for a moment, audible sweetness pouring from an optically virginal mouth. 

“Th-That’s not your style, though . . . _Right_ ?” he inquired, axinite gaze flickering upwards to catch the honeyed olive of the broader man’s. “So you . . . don’t have anyone to _practice_ with?” 

His brows furrowed in concern then, delicate arms crossing again anxiously. 

“Nah, no way,” Barley said, casually woeful. “They’re my friends. It’d be too weird for me. And anyway, they all know each other. If I even suggested it to one of them, they’d all find out. Lily especially.” He glanced at Ian, apologetically. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll check WikiHow.”

Ian couldn’t stifle a scoff at his brother’s final comment, unwinding his arms in exasperation, then folding his hands upon his narrow thighs a moment later. 

“ _Barley_ ,” he chided, eyes soft and apologetic, betraying the little smile on his lips.

“ _C’mon_ , man. It’s . . . It’s _not like you_ to give up so easily . . . W-What if you’d given up _this_ easily on finding _the Phoenix Gem_ ? Y-You would have _never_ met . . . _Dad_ ,” his stare softened for a moment, tone faltering ever-so-slightly before continuing.

“Kisses—no, _perfect kisses_ —are like Phoenix Gem’s, Barley. They’re transformative. They’re powerful! They’re definitely worth an adventure . . .” as he went, he found his hands waving in slight circles in front of his chest; Barley’s influence on him bubbling to the surface of his mannerisms. 

And upon realizing this, heat crept to his face; limber hands tucking beneath his wiry biceps on reflex.

“S-So, like . . . Where’s your sense of _adventure_?”

Barley stared at him for a long moment before sinking back into the couch. His eyes were wide as he faced forward. “I can’t believe I didn’t see that. I’ve been playing it safe. I never play it safe! You know that!” Barley was sitting up again, looking at Ian for confirmation. “Dating, relationships, romance, it should be an adventure! And for some reason I’ve been treating it like… I dunno, bomb diffusion.” He thought about Lily, with her wide eyes and small, soft mouth, and then he looked at Ian. Ian had always been easy to frighten, but he’d never looked at Barley with real fear. With Ian, Barley didn’t have to wonder if he was trusted. “I think… I think I was worried I’d be too much. That I’d intimidate her. I just don’t know how that translates into good or bad kissing.”

Ian couldn’t help but feel his heart race at his elder sibling’s sudden excitement. Barley was the living embodiment of raw power; oftentimes _untamed_ power, at that. When he truly put his mind to something, very few obstacles could ever withstand the force of his will.

“ _Hey_ ! _Yeah_ ! _That’s_ the spirit,” the frail mage cheered, a luminous (though faintly shy) smile coloring his features. “A-And I mean, if she _can’t handle you_ , then . . . _then_ ,” he stammered, doll-eyes darting between his brother’s intricate tattoo, and trademark spiked bracelet briefly. “I-If she can’t handle the way you _love_ her, then it _wasn’t_ meant to be,” his brows furrowed as he finished, countenance softening and tone easing into one of sympathy.

Barley felt something soften inside of him as he listened to his brother’s words. ‘ _If she can’t handle the way you love her, then it wasn’t meant to be…_ ’ And before he could help it, Barley thought to himself that it was a shame that more singles in New Mushroomton didn’t think like his sweet little brother.

“B-But kissing . . .” Ian mused for a moment, still not meeting the bigger man’s gaze. “Do… Could _I_ —”

The pastel wizard’s eyes studied the pockets of Barley’s cargo shorts rather intensely, a pretty pink flush swimming beneath the starry splay of his freckles. 

“ _I-I_ could . . . _help_ you,” he squeaked shyly, fists clenching as he hugged himself a little more tightly. “ _I-I_ could help you learn,” he tried again, voice a bit more steady. “It's just you and I,” he reasoned, tone taking on a velvety softness, “D-Do you _trust_ me?”

For a moment, Barley was sincerely confused. He stared at Ian with his brows drawn together, trying to figure out why Ian would be offering to help him when he’d already been helping him for fifteen minutes. But then the cogs in his mind began to turn, and he put it together. ‘ _Its just you and I_ ,’ Ian had said. Barley’s brows rose and he tilted his head, studying Ian. And of course, wondering what it would be like. 

He spoke slowly, watching Ian like he was even more mystifying than usual. “Trust you… yeah, of course. I’m just trying to understand… Are you offering to teach me by example, Ian?”

Iandore gnawed at the inside of his cheek then, trembling hands unwinding from their place beneath his arms in favor of resting them atop his knees. Golden-brown eyes sought the loving comfort of his elder brother’s cheery goldenrod in that moment; peering up at the boastful adventurer from beneath a soft dense of cerulean lashes.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Ian pursed his lips, forcing himself to smile through his nerves. 

He took a deep breath, a smirk tiptoeing back across his lips as he allowed his eyes to admire the broadness of the elder Lightfoot’s shoulders and chest . . . The calloused strength in his hands, the stoutness of his belly . . .

He and Barley were so very different.

He’d realized it years ago, but in this moment—under their current circumstances—it was like viewing those differences from the outside-in all over again. 

His pulse echoed in his flushed ears at the thought.

“I-Is that _okay_ ?” he wondered, eyes falling to the studded bracelet around his brother’s wrist once more. “If _not_ . . . I-I can think of something _else_ ? S-Sorry if that was w-weird! I just—” he smiled in earnest, shrugging his shoulders. “I wanna _help_ you, Barley. Y-You’re always here for _me_ , when I need you . . . A-And I wanna be here for _you_ now, too.”

Barley’s face was burning as he listened to Ian’s explanation. “Ah- yeah, of course it’s okay,” he said quickly, to make sure Ian didn’t feel embarrassed. Although in all honesty, Barley was still processing. _Kiss Ian?_ His own _brother_? If it was just for practice, maybe it would be okay. They’d survived plenty of awkward situations before. And if he could help him with this mortifying problem? 

That was when he realized that Ian was waiting on him. And of course he would be, with the look on Barley’s face. He’d been engrossed in the decision, but he’d snapped out of it now. To reaffirm what he’d said, he said, “Yeah. That would be… great of you. To help me with this, I mean.” He nodded, eyes searching Ian’s face. “So... how do we start?”

Ian released a tiny breath of relief, the delicate hands gripping his knees relaxed a bit as he caught the cooling sunspots of his sibling’s stare.

“R- _Right_ ,” he began, biting his lower lip once more in an effort to halt its slight tremble. 

He slid himself closer to his brother, gangly knees knocking against the firm strength of his elder’s. 

“ _So_ ,” he breathed again, straightening his posture, “C-Can _you_ . . . Just _put_ your—” he giggled nervously. “ **Look** ,” he tried, brows knitting together shyly.

Timorous hands reached down to pluck one of Barley’s (laughably larger ones) from its place against the plushness of the sofa, guiding it to rest against the sharp marquis of his jaw. The sensation of dry, calloused warmth against his dewy skin caused the faintest gasp to escape him; and he cleared his throat gently in response, hoping to excuse himself. 

“S-So you want to start off with a _touch_ , right? Just _one hand_ to start. I-If you start with two, it’ll seem forceful,” he informed; voice steadying into something akin to instructional in an attempt to don a role of guidance.

In the placement of Barley’s hand against the lithe teen’s jaw (and frankly, due to its mass, the side of his neck), the man’s thumb had been mistakenly rested on the corner of Ian’s petal-soft lips; and for the time being, the mage tasted salt and grit.

“Give her a few seconds to move away. Give her a _choice_ . Let **her** _decide_ to give herself to **you**.”

Ian’s breath filtered out across his sibling’s thumb as he explained, delicate fingers holding the strength of Barley’s hand in place against his jaw. Through flushed cheeks and lowered lashes, he gave his final instruction:

“If she doesn’t _move away_ from your hand, and _doesn’t_ seem _upset_ , lean in for a kiss.”

Barley was transfixed. A bomb could have gone off in front of them and he wouldn’t have noticed. Ian looked _so_ pretty. Barley’s hand moved reflexively against his cheek, which was very soft for an eighteen-year-old. He leaned in, and pressed his mouth to Ian’s for a long moment before they parted. 

Ian’s eyes fluttered open, a trace of uncertainty in them as he found himself grasping onto the hand against his cheek. Full lips parted; a soft tongue running against his bottom lip thoughtfully. “ _Well_ ,” he mused, brows drawn together, “I-It was a good start.”

He offered a queasy smile, shoulders shrugging in an attempt to make light of the situation. 

“T-Try wetting your lips a little next time? They’re a bit on the dry side,” he offered, gaze dipping to study the hair on his brother’s outstretched arm. “C-Can you maybe . . . try _again_ ? A-And _this_ time, maybe . . .” he trailed off, confection-colored eyes flitting here and there before meeting Barley’s once more.

“Maybe try and kiss me like you’re not _afraid_ of me? I-I know this is . . . _weird_ . _But_ . I-Its just . . . _me_ . _Just me_. Nothing to be afraid of.”

He smiled softly into his words, eyes gleaming with a warm curiosity as he loosened his seemingly desperate grip on Barley’s calloused hand.

Barley wanted to protest, to say that he wasn’t afraid of Ian, but more of embarrassing himself. But he had to remember that Ian was doing this to help him. He licked his lips as Ian had told him to, and closed the space between them once more. Barley tilted his head this time, opening his mouth just a little as he kissed him for the second time. He held it there, his hand moving closer just a little, fingertips brushing against the underside of Ian’s ear. 

And then Barley parted with him, but didn’t move away. His lips brushed against Ian’s as he spoke. “Any better?”

The flush at the tender spellcaster’s cheeks and ears threatened to spill down to his neck. He wasn’t sure how to compartmentalize the emotions he was feeling, but whatever they were; they were rapidly evolving. 

Transforming into something undocumented. 

Something he wasn’t certain was healthy for either of them; but beautiful just the same.

Ian’s breath hitched briefly, tongue darting out against his sibling’s stubbled lips as his elder brother broke their kiss; the synthetic sweetness of Barley’s earlier can of Mt. Doom lingering between them.

“A-A _little_ ,” Ian’s lashes fluttered open to find his brother’s mead-toned eyes studying him in earnest; clearly aiming to please. “ _Let’s_ . . . C-Can you m-maybe try . . . If you could s-suck my _lower lip_ a bit? That could be nice,” he suggested, scooting himself a bit closer to Barley.

“And, uhm . . . Put your other hand on my lower back? Y-You can _touch_ me . . . You don’t have to be scared. I-It’s just _us_.”

The phrase, ‘It’s just us,’ lingered in Barley’s mind. He didn’t know what that meant, because there was nothing ‘just’ about Ian. He was and always had been the most important person in Barley’s life. Thoughts aside, he shifted closer to Ian, taking Ian’s tiny waist, and then sliding his hand to his back. 

His other palm on Ian’s face slipped down a bit, and Barley could feel the strong pounding of his pulse in his slender neck. Barley kissed him once more, parting his lips and closing them over Ian’s bottom lip. He sucked a little as he pulled away, and then kissed him again just the same way. Rather than closing his eyes with purpose, they simply drifted shut. A single kiss had evolved into kissing as movement was introduced. Barley was unaware as his hand on Ian’s back traced Ian’s vertebrae through his shirt.

The involuntary sound that escaped Ian upon Barley suckling at his lower lip caused him to bite down on the older man’s kiss for a moment; heart thudding in his ears as he realized he’d moaned beneath the other’s powerful-yet-gentle touches.

His mind couldn’t help but drift to less fortunate encounters; men two or three times his size who weren’t so careful with him, and couldn’t accommodate his requests quite the way his sibling was trying to so deliberately to do . . . 

This was new. This was sweet. And he couldn’t help but ask for more.

Ian’s quivering fingers timidly caressed the wiry stubble of his brother’s broad jaw; the sweet warmth of his tongue shyly stumbling its way into Barley’s soda-flavored kiss, as strong, toughened fingers traced the delicacy of his limber back.

The hand on Barley’s jaw slid to the semi-soft strength of his broad chest then, attempting to force them apart as Ian pulled away.

“B-Barley,” he nearly whined, clearing his throat as his eyes mustered the courage to meet the bigger man’s. “I-I’m, uhm . . . Y-You’re doing great, but . . .”

His dusky gaze fell to the front of Barley’s shirt then, a frail touch smoothing across the warmth of his elder’s chest.

He knew it was wrong, but he craved more contact.

“I-If you want, you c-can try moving your hand under my shirt?” he suggested, chewing his semi-swollen lower lip as he sorted through his racing emotions. “A-And I like . . . G-Girls like their necks kissed, too. C-Could you try that? I-I mean, if you like doing it.”

Somber doe-eyes drank in the warm honey of Barley’s gaze for a moment; Ian moving forward to place a chaste kiss against the bristle of the elder Lightfoot’s cheek in an offering of apology.

“S-Sorry. I’m not trying to be bossy. Y-You’re just . . . You’re doing great.”

“N-No, it’s fine,” Barley stammered, trying to think through the fog. He was aware that he was passing the point of instruction right into that of self-indulgence. It was a scary thought, considering it was his little brother in question. But Barley was finding it hard to resist. 

Barley dropped his hand to the hem of Ian’s shirt and slid underneath. Ian’s body was a long, upward stretch of smooth skin, and Barley explored it slowly. And then with little effort, his strong arm pulled Ian closer. 

He ducked his head to the side, putting pressure between Ian’s shoulder blades as he held him close. His mouth met Ian’s neck and he pressed an open-mouth kiss to it. His tongue slipped out, tasting his skin before he sucked. Barley didn’t know what he was doing, other than hungrily indulging himself. His movements became more urgent as he kissed Ian’s skin, trailing from the curve of his shoulder up to the soft spot beneath his ear. Barley wasn’t even thinking as his teeth grazed his brother’s neck and he bit down. 

Finding himself pulled tightly against the solidity of his elder, the junior Lightfoot coughed up a little squeak in response; the ravenous lips and barbed stubble nipping at the lush skin of his exposed throat, eliciting a noise somewhere between a gasp and a giggle.

But nothing could compare with the white-heat of his blood boiling in his veins at his brother’s claiming bite.

Soft hands scrambled to clutch a broad back in a lustful panic; the curve of Ian’s carefully trimmed nails digging into Barley’s shoulders as the slighter boy practically pushed more of his neck into his brother’s hungry mouth.

“B- **Barley** ! D- _Don’t_ !” was all he could manage, though his body language screamed the opposite. “M- _Mom_ might see if you leave a mark,” his voice quivered, eyes rolling shut at the wet warmth and wide pressure along the life-giving vein in his throat.

“C-Can . . . We need t-to take this to your room,” he decided, nails trembling in their place on Barley’s shoulder-blades. “O-Or _mine_ . I don’t _care_. I-I don’t . . .” 

He cut himself off, a thin hand reaching to tangle in the jagged down of the adventurer’s (surprisingly clean) hair. “T-Tell me what you’re _thinking_?” he pleaded, the tremor of his voice sounding childlike and unsure through the thick onset of need.

Barley finally released Ian’s neck, the pastel blue skin now ruddy and marked. Hopefully it wouldn’t last. He looked at Ian, and was struck with just how strong the desire was to surge forward again. “Thinking…?” he murmured. “I’m thinking about not over-thinking, I guess. But now I’m kinda worrying about you.”

Ian’s brows furrowed in confusion, the haze of lust in his heavily lidded eyes causing them to become unreadable.

“W- _Worried_ ?” Ian whimpered, willowy arms wrapping around Barley’s dense neck as his lissome body trembled against him. “D-Don’t be _worried_ about me, Barley. I-I’m all grown up,” he smiled meekly, placing a gentle kiss against his brother’s unruly brow. “Y-You don’t wanna . . . Take this e- _elsewhere_ ? Wh-What about _Colt_?” the pastel magician inquired, the pressure in the front of his jeans forcing his mind to remember exactly what was going on.

He was making out with his big brother.

His boisterous and noble protector.

On their mother’s hideous vintage sofa.

And it was beginning to go too far.

“P-Please don’t stop? I-I’m really sorry . . . I know this is . . . w-weird. But . . . C-Can I just have this?”

Barley gaped. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Ian beg so fervently in his life. It was the most sensuous thing he’d ever heard. Barley had never thought he had a ‘thing’ before. But Ian wanting him? That was it. His shorts were stretched tight from touching and kissing him, and the thought of literally _anything_ more had him aching. 

Maybe two hands seemed forceful, but Barley did it anyway. He took Ian’s soft face in his hands and pulled him in, crushing their mouths together. And then he moved to grab Ian’s legs just above the knees, and pulled them together. With Ian straddling him, he picked him up and carried him toward his bedroom. It was a clumsy journey as he continued to lock lips with Ian, pressing him against the bedroom door frame. Reluctantly Barley loosened his hold, letting Ian’s legs slip down until he stood.

Ian’s legs wobbled beneath him as he took a stand, his brother’s saccharine flavored kisses causing his mind to sway drunkenly through the fog of his need.

“Getting _really_ good at this kissing thing,” he breathed as he pulled away, throwing open the tabletop gamer’s door and pulling them both inside; eager hands practically tossing the door closed as an afterthought.

The soft glow from Barley’s bedside lamp lit their way as the delicate little mage pulled his knightly guardian—through the clutter and paraphernalia—to the crumpled mess of blankets and laundry he knew Barley considered a bed; shoving the stocky man onto his back and climbing atop to rest his rest the slight curvature of his rear against the angry bulge in Barley’s cargo shorts.

“Wh-What do you wanna try _next_?” he inquired sweetly, quivering hands guiding his brother’s firm grip to the thinness of his hips once more. “We can do . . . whatever you want.”

He chewed his bottom lip, biting back a nervous smile; brows furrowed anxiously and baby-doll eyes gleaming golden beneath the dull amber light.

“A-Any _suggestions_?”

Barley blew out a breath between his lips as he looked up at Ian, who sat there like a perfect little prince on a throne. He shifted beneath him, nowhere near grinding, but definitely moving to get more comfortable. But it was fruitless without undoing his fly. 

The comment made him smile. Barley said, “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily. You wanted me to take you in here, now you have to tell me what for.” He ran his hands up and down Ian’s narrow thighs, sliding against the soft, tight denim. God, what was he thinking?

Iandore’s brows lowered briefly, upper lip tucking beneath his bottom teeth; the illusion of a pout created as he ground the firmness of his ass into the concealed hardness beneath him.

Barley, it seemed, was done playing his little game.

At least, for now.

“D-Don’t look so _smug_ ,” came the frazzled teen’s strained chuckle, lithe hands reaching down to fumble with the button and zipper of his skintight jeans before studying his brother’s rugged handsomeness. “Y-You _know_ what _I_ want, Barley,” he murmured next, lifting himself off his sibling—fingers trembling as they fumbled with the gentle brute’s zipper and fly.

He took another carefully placed seat, shifting his weight so as to create a bit of friction before craning down to press velveteen kisses along the scruff of Barley’s jaw; finishing with one more atop the Quest Master’s nose for good measure.

“I . . . I _just_ . . . I-I wanna make sure we b-both want the _same_ _thing_. Th-This is supposed to be about _you_ , Barley.”

Barley groaned as he felt Ian rock against him. And he listened, heart pounding hard. Ian wanted to… well he was pretty certain Ian wanted to have sex with him. The thought had his pulse racing even faster. This was so far beyond anything he’d expected less than an hour ago. 

He reached up and gently caressed Ian’s ears, urging him closer for another soft kiss. And then he shifted them to lie beside one another, and held Ian by the waist.

“Ian,” he said, warm and lovingly. “Kissing lessons _were_ supposed to be about me, but _this_ would be about us. If we _slept together_ , it would be a big deal. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t be able to forget it.” His thumb trailed along Ian’s lower lip, wet and soft. 

Ian’s pulse thudded in his flourished ears, mind racing and rounded eyes darting across the bulk and muscle of his brother’s body as he considered their circumstances.

 _Sex_.

Barley was dancing around calling it what it was, but _Iandore_ wasn’t willing to. At least, not in his mind.

If they were to go through with what he was suggesting, everything would _change_. If they held back and called everything off now, there would still be a chance that they could laugh this off tomorrow. They could go back to simply being brothers. They could chalk this up to inexperience and hormones and emotions running high.

They could bury this.

 _But_ **_sex_ ** _?_

That would be crossing a line.

Sex would leave a visible stain—in Ian’s case, Barley’s proud neon-colored splay to best the several monochromatic ones before it—on his relationship with his elder brother.

“ _Barley_ ,” he murmured, brows furrowing wistfully as he reached to caress the stubble of the adventurer’s cheek. “ _This_ . . . This is a _really big deal_ . Y’know?” he began, finding his eyes unable to meet his stocky companion’s. “I-If we _do_ this . . . things won’t be like they were _before_ ,” he reminded, chewing the inside of his cheek in a combination of thoughtfulness and raw nerve.

“I-I . . . I _love_ you, man. I _just_ . . . M-Maybe we should _think_ about this? Have _you_ . . . You haven’t _done_ _this_ before . . . _Right_?”

At last, chocolate raised to meet amber once more; the familiar flood of bravery, confidence and boundless trust returning to Ian as he gazed into the eyes of the man he knew would move mountains if only to see him smile.

“Are you sure you’d want _me_ to be your first?”

“Okay, slow down,” Barley said, moving his hand from Ian’s waist to hold the other’s. “I absolutely know that things wouldn’t be the same. That’s why I hesitated. And…” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’d want it to be you, but not if it’s going to ruin things between us. Not if it means that things are never going to be the same again.” 

Barley sighed and rubbed his face. Thankfully, he was already losing his erection. Ian was too important to hurt over a white-hot moment of passion. “Shit,” he said, despairing. And then he moved and sat up in bed, staring unseeingly at the foot of the bed.

Ian’s heart sank in his chest as he listened to his brother speak; dissonant eyes taking in the stocky man’s progression from warm investment, to thoughtful distance.

He wanted to stop him. He wanted to take it all back. Eat his words.

But he knew that what he’d asked Barley to consider was the right thing to do.

“Hey,” he began, sitting up as well; an uncertain hand placed against the strength of the older Lightfoot’s back. “I’m . . . I’m _really_ sorry, Barley. I-I didn’t mean to get so wound up. A-And I didn’t mean to wind _you_ up like that, either.”

His free hand curled into a tremoring fist.

In that moment, with Barley’s back turned to him; he felt as though the world and all its beauty rested squarely on his brother’s shoulders. And that weight—while potentially crushing—was ever reassuring. 

Barley had been a protector of rare and beautiful things for as long as Iandore could remember. From butterflies on the schoolyard, to the mysterious historical monuments of yesteryear.

Who better then, to protect their love?

“W-What do you wanna do?”

He found the inquiry had all but lost its prior erotic undertones.

“Uhm…” Barley said slowly. He glanced at Ian, offering a half-hearted smile. “Maybe try to sleep, I guess. Get my head straight. Probably jerk off, too.”

Iandore’s sudden combination of flustered brows and a queasy smirk gave way to sumptuous laughter; the glassy twinkling of it illuminating the stale dimness of his elder’s cluttered room for a few moments.

And as his humor subsided, so did the weight of their situation.

The sweeping presence of Barley’s own special magic had presented itself once again: The ability to heal.

Sliding to a stand on rapidly numbing legs, the petite wizard watched his brother with unreadable eyes. He held the man’s honey-glazed stare for several precious seconds; expression rouging over as he found himself smiling once more. Another giggle escaped him as he shook his head, sending cerulean curls here and there.

“I-I’m gonna go finish the dishes . . . Get some rest, dude,” he bade, leaning down to place one more delicate kiss against the proud adventurer’s bristled lips before ruffling his choppy hair.

And with that, he crossed through the splay of floored paraphernalia to exit Barley’s room; one final naïve glance offered as he closed the door with a firm click.

Barley watched Ian go. He wore a genuine smile, although it faded a bit when he heard his brother’s footsteps on the other side of the door. That could have very well been the last kiss they would share.

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FanFicLover69, a_seaof_wonders, MissLightfoot23, HotBarley, thank you so very much for taking the time to comment!

The next few days were pure torture for Barley. Ian seemed to have moved on instantly, and Barley was left with his mouth watering every time Ian walked by. He supposed it would be worse if his little brother had been uncomfortable around him, but he’d at least expected him to keep some distance for a while. 

Barley had been wrong to expect that. Ian seemed to be everywhere, snapping Barley out of a daze by shoving his shoulder or stealing his beanie, and giggling as he hurried off with it. Chasing Ian was torture, as every time he caught him he wanted to carry him to a bed and tear his clothes off. He’d also been haunted by dreams of Ian beneath him, moaning and whimpering the way he had when they’d made out. 

And on top of all of that, Barley just wanted to kiss him again.

It was Thursday when Ian once again stole something of Barley’s, this time the spiked bracelet he’d momentarily taken off to scratch an itch. Barley chased him down the hall and caught him at the bottom of the stairs. Ian shrieked as Barley grabbed him around the waist, easily plucking the leather bracelet out of his hold. Ian looked back at him with wide, babydoll eyes, and suddenly, finally, Barley realized that Ian was  _ playing with him _ . 

Barley lifted the bracelet, emphatically showing it to Ian. “ _ No stealing, _ ” he said with the tone he’d use on a baby dragon. “You hear me?”

Iandore worried his bottom lip as eyes of confectioner’s chocolate studied a sudden shift in his brother’s Midas-toned ones.

_ Realization _ . There it was. Written all over Barley’s ruggedly handsome face.

“S- _ Sorry _ , Barley . . . Guess you caught me,” he whispered, gaze gleaming mischievously; not all that out-of-character as of late. “You probably expect a prize, right?” he smirked, closing the space between them, pressing the fragility of his body against the strength of his elder’s.

Doe-eyes peered straight into the tabletop gamer in a way he knew would disarm him—if only for an instant—as wiry arms reached to guide soft hands to the top of the Barley’s head; the pleat in his trademark beanie yanked down over his golden eyes as Ian spoke: “I-If you’re gonna spend the rest of our lives looking at me like—I’m the last slice of birthday cake? You could at least _do_ something about it.”

With this, he lifted the woven cap off of his brother’s head entirely, sliding it over his own cherubic curls as his expression flatlined.

“Where’s your sense of  _ adventure _ ?”

Barley would have been stunned into silence if not for Ian’s last comment. It snapped him out of it and he made a swipe for Ian, catching his wrist before he could make it up the stairs. 

“My sense of adventure?” he repeated, incredulous. “Sorry if I’m struggling, what with you pouring on the sugar every chance you get.” He barked out a single humorless laugh. “You either forgot everything we talked about, or you just don’t give a shit anymore. So, which is it?”

Innocent eyes widened; the solid grip of a hand that had only ever sought to jest with or protect him, suddenly held him accountable for his actions.

It wasn’t painful, but it  _ was  _ insistent.

The chipper flourish of Iandore’s ears dipped as he was challenged, brows knitting in concern as he felt the frustration, confusion and heartache in his brother’s voice.

“B- _ Barley _ . . . I — ” he cut himself off, rounded eyes flickering to the tenseness of the bigger man’s jaw.

He swallowed thickly, sorting through his erratic thoughts to carefully select his next words.

“I-I was  _ just _ . . .  _ kidding around _ ,” he shrugged, smiling sweetly; fawn-like lashes batted twice. “Hey,” he tried, pulling his delicate wrist free (finding little resistance at this point) to guide the tenseness of his sibling’s dense brawn into a chaste embrace. “I’m  _ really _ sorry, Barley . . . I-I can . . . I’ll  _ stop _ .”

With this, he reared back; a childlike quality in his valentine eyes grasping for solace and acceptance in the Quest Master’s mead-stained leer.

“A-And Sadie and Jenny are picking me up in a few minutes . . . Can I wear your hat?”

Barley hadn’t returned the hug when Ian had given it, but his younger brother didn’t seem too deterred. At this point, Barley couldn’t tell what was sincere and what was a game, and his uneasiness made him angrier. 

He took a step closer to Ian and reached for him, a broad hand holding the back of Ian’s head. His fingers closed over the material of his beanie and he gently pulled until it slid off. Without a word he took a step back and then turned, heading for his room. As he reached the door, he put on his hat once more.

Ian’s mystic blood ran cold in his veins at his elder’s sudden distance; heart palpitating in his chest as he clenched narrow fists tightly enough to wear crescent-shaped grooves in his tender palms.

Watching his brother walk away from him — something unfamiliar present in the man’s posture—the fragile mage offered one final admittance: “L- _ Love _ you, man.  _ Sorry _ . . . S-See you when I get home.”

It was honest. It was transparent.

Barley wasn’t like the boys at school. He wasn’t to be tried and trialed and toyed with.

Barley was a  _ man _ .

A warm, humorous, imaginative, luminous man; traits which often caused Ian to forget to categorize him as an adult with his own range of emotional depth, and his own set of desires.

But, it was clear to him now, that needed to change.

His brother didn’t deserve to be viewed as an idle source of entertainment. And truthfully, Iandore didn’t strive to view him as such. He loved and respected Barley, as rarely as he liked to admit it.

But Barley always made it so easy for him to take things too far.

And now, the pastel summoner realized there was a breaking point.

Receiving a text message summoning him outside and into the awaiting arms (and neurotic chatter) of his schoolmates, Ian sighed defeatedly; wistful eyes studying his brother’s now-closed door as he made his way through their home and out into the balmy air of a Spring evening.

\---

In his room, Barley sat at his desk and brooded. Ian had been acting like such a teenager! And still, Barley knew he’d get over it. Ian was a ‘one-and-only’ in his life, no matter how tempestuous things were becoming. He studied some of the photographs pinned to the wall, pictures from when they were kids, and quite a few more from recently. Even if Ian tended to be on the nervous side, he’d always followed Barley wherever he went, be it the high diving board, or the trail less travelled. 

He studied a picture their mom had taken at Barley’s last birthday. They’d gone out for ice cream on a warm evening, not something one would expect of a twenty-first birthday. But Barley hadn’t wanted to go to a bar if Ian couldn’t come along. At the ice cream shop they sat on a bench outside, with the crickets and the whir of distant cars. Barley had stuck a raisin on his tooth to make it look like it was missing. In the photograph, Barley faced the camera and showed it off while Ian turned to laugh at him. Barley studied the smile on Ian’s face, the pure, raw affection, and his heart softened. Maybe Ian was having as difficult a time with this as he was.

Eventually it was time to go. He felt a little better with the belief that things would work out. They’d get over this as a passing infatuation. Things with Ian would be okay. He climbed into the van and headed to Lily’s house.

When he parked, he started to open his door, and then remembered how things had gone last week. He was not her boyfriend anymore, and he should not be coming to the doorstep. So he shut the van and texted her instead, waiting for her to come out.

Within a few minutes—which had been purposefully drawn out to the point of discomfort—Lily appeared in her doorway; bidding her parents farewell as she eyed the handmade chariot awaiting her.

She steeled her nerves, pulse escalating as she drew a deep breath. This could either go very well, or very poorly.

Though, secretly, she was hoping for things to go  _ poorly _ . It would give her another funny little tale to spin to her friends, who already had a wealth of one-sided information on Barley as it stood; the story always skewed in Lily’s favor.

Trotting up to Guinevere the Second, she offered an empty smile through the window as she opened the door.

“ _ Hey _ , Barley. Thanks for picking me up,” she chirped, tone held steady and veiled in false warmth. “You’ve been  _ quiet  _ this week. Everything going  _ okay _ ?” she inquired as she closed herself inside and fastened her seatbelt. “Anything  _ new _ ?”

She didn’t particularly care. She just wanted to get a reaction.

"Oh not much, just class and campaigns," Barley said with a friendly smile. He pulled away from the curb toward their friend's house, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel as they went. "How about you? Anything interesting going on?"

The willowy girl furrowed her brows at the warmth and civility in her ex’s aura, fully expecting there to have been awkwardness between them after their last encounter.

“ _ Uhm _ ,” she began, shaking her head to clear her thoughts, “Well, actually,  _ yeah _ . So, this girl that I knew in  _ High School _ had her application to Flamel University  _ rejected _ , because her parents were suspected of  _ bribery _ , right?” she inquired; the beginnings of a lengthy tale about third-person drama beginning to unfold—filled with characters and personalities that the knightly Quest Master wouldn’t have known much (if anything) about.

Uninterrupted by the man’s silence, Lily pressed on — rotating through details as they came to her — watching street signs and neighborhoods pass them by as they approached the general area of their destination.

“ _ So _ . Any  _ thoughts _ ?” she inquired, seeking the treasured gold of her traveling companion’s gaze, but receiving nothing. “ _ Barley _ , are you  _ in _ there?”

Barley blinked, realizing his thoughts had strayed back to Ian and the argument they had earlier. Barley wondered how he was doing with his friends now. But with his attention returned, he stammered, trying to remember what Lily had said last. In the past he had always been an attentive listener, but today he was having trouble.

"Uhmmm… yeah that's terrible. I can't believe her parents did that. Did she know what they were doing?”

Rolling her eyes as her face heated up, Lily wound her arms across her ribs; tossing a venomous look out her window as they drove. “I wasn’t even  _ talking _ about that anymore,” she grumbled quietly, sinking into her seat a bit.

She pondered the possibilities of her ex’s distraction: Had he met someone new within the week? Was he even capable of finding anyone so quickly, outside of their circle? Was he ever really invested in her to begin with? Was he just feigning his sudden disinterest?

Her gaze crept back across the space between them, eyes burning holes into the side of her driver’s oblivious head as he delivered them to their destination at last; cutting the ignition a moment later.

She composed herself immediately, sighing in relief as she unfastened her seatbelt, and let herself out of the stocky man’s patchwork quest-mobile.

Their friend’s house was a come-and-go kind of place, with too many visitors for anyone to bother knocking. They let themselves in and headed to the basement, where they found their friends setting up at the table. 

As they exchanged greetings, Barley didn’t fail to notice some of the uneasy looks he received from the other girls. How much did they know? What had Lily told them? God, did they all know he’d been a bad kisser?! He smiled at them as light-heartedly as he could as they all sat down, he and Lily trying to avoid sitting together. 

Still, after they settled in and moved on with the quest, Barley was happily distracted. Soon enough he was his usual jovial self, his booming voice and sound effects causing his friends to laugh and play along. Even the girls seemed to ease up, talking to him the way they usually did. 

Lily couldn’t fight back the genuine smiles and lighthearted giggles bubbling up from within her as Barley did what he did best: Brought tall tales to life, and worked the room into a frenzy.

She didn’t want to be enjoying herself as thoroughly as she was. She wanted to be upset. She wanted to feel jilted. She wanted to understand what had changed within the last seven days of her absence in the boastful man’s (allegedly uninterrupted) life.

The things she’d accused Barley of a week prior, tasted of ash in her mouth as she mused them over. Perhaps she’d judged him too harshly. Perhaps he just needed a little patience. Perhaps, in the end,  _ she _ was the one who was unremarkable.

Lily decided then, as their night of masterfully cultivated adventure carried on, that if Barley asked her for a second chance, she would gladly give it.

At the end of the night, Barley was feeling very good. He was even able to smile at Lily without forcing it. They said their quick goodbyes and parted, stepping outside. 

“Oh…” Barley said as they stood on the porch. It was pouring outside. “Wait here,” he said automatically, running to the van. He grabbed his spare umbrella and opened it, hurrying back. He held it above them as they walked to the van. Once she was in, he went to his side and climbed in as well. Setting the umbrella in the back to dry, he pulled off his soaked hat. “Man, that’s coming down in sheets,” he marveled.

Heat flooded Lily’s body at the bigger man’s show of chivalry, wordlessly accepting his help into his steed of solid steel.

“ _ Yeah _ , it really is,” she agreed, seeking to catch his gaze; only to find he was already firing up the engine and pulling out into the precipitation-slicked streets.

Their drive was spent mostly in silence; Barley’s fragrant combination of spice and cleanliness lingering in Lily’s nose from the man’s earlier closeness beneath their shared umbrella. It hadn’t taken long for them to arrive at her humble abode; nestled somewhere between their gaming headquarters and Barley’s home.

She couldn’t help but heave a small sigh, brows furrowing as a fresh wave of anxietywashed over her. What should she  _ do _ ? What should she  _ say _ ? Was there anything left  _ to _ say? Anything that would possibly sway the situation in  _ her _ favor?

Evergreen eyes searched for Barley’s goldenrod once again; her pulse thudding in her ears as her thoughts flooded with possibilities.

Barley’s mind was a million miles away. But when Lily didn’t get out, he glanced her way. Gently he asked, “Hey Lil, you okay?”

Complexion rouging over, the petite girl realized she’d been staring at her traveling companion. In a rush of nervousness and bravery; she decided to be more direct: “Can we try that—?”

However, as the fates would have it; the brawny adventurer’s cellphone buzzed to life from its place in one of his many pockets.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, an inquiry forming in his distant eyes as he scrambled to retrieve the source of the newly erupted melody adorning the tension between them.

Honeyed eyes scanned the backlit expanse of his phone’s cracked screen, his baby brother’s name—accentuated by Wizard emojis—causing his heart rate to escalate ever-so-slightly.

“Sir Iandore!” he chimed gallantly; a little flourish of his hand offered to no-one as he went. “To what merriment do I owe thanks for this sacred outreach—?”

“ **Barley** ,” a voice doused in dissonance sliced through the neon giant’s delivery. “C-Can  _ you  _ . . . Could you _ pick me up _ ? I’m . . . I’m across from Pizza Realm. I-I’m at a bus stop. A  **covered** bus stop! I’m  **safe** ! . . . I’m  _ safe _ . I just,” he paused, heaving a shuddering sigh. “I-If you’re not doing anything, I’d appreciate a ride home.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Barley said immediately. His heart pounded hard, panic rising in his throat. “I’ll be right over.” They hung up and Barley turned back to Lily. “I gotta go. See you next week.”

Lily balked slightly, countenance shredded by disappointment as she found her opportunity stolen by an unknown source.

But she would resist the urge to be selfish. 

At least, for now.

“S- _ Sure _ . I understand,” she offered an unconvincing smile, opening up the passenger-side door and stepping out into the downpour. “I’ll see you next week!” she called, tone steady and laced with optimism as she nodded (to herself more than to Barley); shutting the door and darting off into the warmth and shelter of her home.

She tossed a final wave to her fellow gamer before closing herself inside, leaving Barley to his mysterious task.

Barley did not see the wave, because he was already pulling out into the street. He took the back roads to avoid traffic, sliding through stop signs until he reached the right road.

Ian had said he was alright, but it hadn't completely put Barley at ease. There had to be a reason for this and he needed to find out. He saw the lights of the Pizza Realm and pulled off, parking in the bus lane right in front of the overhang where he saw a slender figure waiting with their arms crossed.

Somber chocolate eyes flickered to life as the proud vibrance of his brother’s vehicle pulled up before them; a nervous glance tossed left and right to ascertain there were no oncoming busses before he crossed the night-clad deluge into the safety of his brother’s van.

“ _ Hey _ ,” Ian called meekly, a watery smile offered as he trembled beneath his damp attire. “Th-Thanks for picking me up.”

He found himself frightened to meet his brother’s eyes.

If he could bypass any real sense of familiarity for the moment, he could possibly avoid being asked any questions that might pull emotions from him he would have preferred to bottle up for the remainder of the evening.

Showing weakness in front of Barley only reminded his boisterous sibling of his petulant fragility. And Barley had enough to worry about, Ian thought, without concerning himself with his teenage drama.

Barley scrutinized Ian's appearance, as if there could be some physical tell all for whatever happened. But all he saw was water, dripping from Ian's curls and down the side of his neck. His favorite red, plaid shirt was now dark and damp, clinging to the younger boy's body.

"You look like a drowned cat," Barley said gently. "Just hold on." He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed into the back, rifling through a box and returning with a fairly dingy blanket. He shook it out and handed it to Ian. 

Iandore bit back a spoiled grimace at the blanket he was offered, hesitantly accepting it with a nod of acceptance; draping it over himself all the same. 

“Thanks, Barley,” he smiled, axinite gaze softening as he found that—despite the blanket’s gruff exterior—it really  _ was _ warm and comforting.

He made a mental note just then, that his dicey summary of the blanket could also be applied to the sunny barbarian to his left.

“H-How was . . . the  _ campaign  _ tonight? Did you see that girl? Was she  _ nice  _ to you?”

Barley was a little rougher on the van as he pulled out, stepping on the gas. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible so the both of them, but mainly Ian, could get into some dry clothes.

"I literally could not think of anything I care about less right now," Barley said. "How the hell did you end up alone at a bus stop near the Pizza Realm? This is nowhere near the mall! Where are your friends?"

Ian’s satiny fists clenched beneath the blanket he’d been granted; doe-eyes hardening as they watched the street signs pass them by in a blur. “ _ Uhm _ ,” he tried, instinctively considering a white lie before settling on the truth. 

“I-I . . . I ran into one of my  _ other  _ friends at the mall. . . One of the guys from school,” he began, tossing a quick glance to Barley’s hands on the steering wheel before continuing. “A- _ And _ , uhm,” he felt himself trembling again as he confessed, “ _ He _ . . . o-offered to take me back home, but. It just . . . It  _ didn’t work out _ .”

As he finished his admittance, he found his tone hitching childishly as his throat tightened; eyes welling with tears as he went. “B-But, it doesn’t  _ matter _ , now. You, uhm . . . I’m with  **you** , now,” he concluded, offering his elder a watery (though entirely too earnest) smile.

Barley’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as he processed what Ian was implying. Immediately Barley felt as though the gears in him had dislodged, and a fire was beginning to erupt. A car behind him honked as he veered off the road, pulling over onto the edge of a field. The wipers swished back and forth, struggling to combat the roaring rain. 

He turned to look at Ian, his voice trembling. “What do you mean, ‘it didn’t work out? Ian, what did he do?”

Ian had given a little yip in response to the sudden aggression in their pull-over, but it was the fire in his brother’s golden eyes that frightened him the most.

As certain as he was that his sibling would never, under any circumstances, bring any legitimate harm to him; his elder was also an impregnable wall of force and solidity (standing over 6 feet in height, to top it all off).

“N-N . . .” Iandore held his quivering tongue, heart sinking as his rounded eyes found themselves unable to break from Barley’s leer. “H-He  _ just _ . . .  **We** just didn’t c- _ click _ . A-And—” he caught himself, hands clenched so tightly, he burrowed marks into his palms.

“A-Actually, _you_ . . . You _know_ _something_ , Barley? This isn’t _any_ of your—” he caught himself, watching as that line tightened his elder’s grip upon the steering wheel. “I-I don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

“Yeah, well, I do!” Barley shouted. At this point he was completely unaware of his own size or volume, consumed in protective panic on his brother’s behalf. “ _ What did he do?! _ ”

“Don’t _fucking_ **_yell_** at me!” Ian snapped immediately, tossing the blanket off of him and steeling his posture.

Nimble fingers made quick work of tossing the seatbelt from his narrow lap, as he balled up the musty blanket and hurled it into the back of the van in a huff; quivering all the while.

“H-He wanted to  _ do _ things I . . . I didn’t  _ wanna _ do. A-A-And I told him  **no** ! And he got  _ upset _ — A-And what do  **you** care,  _ Barley _ ?  _ You’re _ —” and there came the tears, cascading down the naïve beauty of an attempted sneer. “Y- _ You _ were out getting  _ laid _ tonight,  _ right _ ?  **_Right_ ** ?! A-All I can  _ smell _ in here is that girl’s  _ perfume _ , Barley. S-So  _ cool off _ , man.  _ You _ had  _ your _ fun. D-Don’t tell me how to have  _ mine _ .”

Barley was ready to tear the head off whoever this fuckboy was, but his thoughts veered back onto Ian when the younger Lightfoot broke. His mouth fell open. “You can  _ smell perfume _ ? Are you kidding me? You’d have to be my  _ boyfriend _ for any of this hysteria to make sense!”

Ian’s breath hitched; the sound of it loud and hoarse as Barley’s words struck him where he’d least expected. A switch somewhere inside of him was flipped in that moment, and he found his gaze once again unable to meet his elder’s.

“Y-You _know_ _what_ , bro?” his voice was hushed—almost a whimper as he threw open the passenger’s side door and slid out into the mist and downpour, “ ** _Fuck_** _you_.”

And with this, he stormed off. Limber legs pulled him onward and into the moors along the quiet backroad his brother had taken to avoid any rain-induced traffic.

“IAN!” Barley shouted as the passenger door was slammed shut. “Ian! Ugh!” Barley opened his own door and slammed it as he moved around the car, hurrying after him. His sneakers immediately sunk into the pooling water in the grass. “Ian, stop! Where are you going?” A few long strides and Barley caught up with him, his hand closing around the crook of Ian’s arm. “Ian, look at me!”

“I-I _don’t_ **_wanna_** look at you, Barley!” the little mage barked, thankful for the rainfall carefully masking his tears. 

He tried to yank his willowy arm away from the (laughably) larger man, but found Barley’s grip to be inescapable. So with a shuddering sigh and a clench of his free hand, he drew a deep breath and tried again.

“Our neighborhood’s _right_ across this field. We’re _almost_ home, man. I just . . . I just need to _clear_ _my_ _head_. A-And _cool_ off,” he excused, fingers and lower lip trembling beneath the deluge. “A-And by the time I get home, I’ll be back to normal. But right now, I-I don’t wanna talk about what happened today. _Okay_? N-Now get _back_ in the van, and _go home_ , Barley. You’re gonna catch a cold.”

Barley took a step closer, facing Ian and taking his other arm as well. And then his hold drifted downward until he held Ian’s hands. His expression was pained as he spoke. “I don’t- I don’t know what’s going on in your head. Not for sure. I don’t even know what’s going on in my  _ own _ head. But I do know that I  _ hate _ that you got hurt today, and… and I think I would hate it too if the guy who drove you home was nice. Maybe… maybe that’s how you feel about me, having a girl in the van. I didn’t do anything with her, you know. And I don’t have to. If you don’t want me to.”

Golden-brown eyes watched their elder’s mind run through the situation at hand. It was written all over Barley’s face—an innocence and an honesty that could never be feigned. Ian’s supple fingers trembled within the taller man’s reassuring grip as he listened to him verbalize his thoughts.

And by the end, Iandore’s heart was racing.

What his brother was proposing, was—

“ _Barley_ . . . I just . . . I-I just want you to be _happy_ ,” the shuddering teen stated; not particularly warmly, but honestly nonetheless. “I-If that girl makes you _happy_ , then I want you to _be_ with her . . . _Just_ —” he shook his head, chocolate breaking from caramel as he eyed his brother’s tattoo. “I-I took it too far the other day. I-Its _my_ fault. You can—You can just be _honest_. I-I put _all this weird stuff_ in your head. I-I . . . I took _advantage_ of you, man. I _messed_ _up_. I’m _sorry_.”

Barley didn’t answer right away. Finally he said, “Well, I don’t know if I can agree with all of that, but I don’t want to argue.” He loosened his hold on Ian’s hands and let his arms fall to his sides, no longer imprisoning him there. The rain was still coming down hard, gusts rushing over them. They were both soaked to the bone. 

“Just come back to the van. Please. I swear, I won’t make you talk about anything anymore. Just let me take you home like you wanted.”

Ian’s gaze—still steadied on his elder’s ornate tattoo—softened at the offering of a return trip without further questioning. The lithe little wizard nodded numbly, choosing to follow the burly adventurer back into the shelter of his scratch-crafted steed; each Lightfoot brother entering without another word, and pulling back onto the rain-battered streets leading to their residence.

Their mother’s SUV sat alone in the driveway, and Ian offered a sigh of frustration as his mind sifted through scenarios that would explain their waterlogged state to Laurel, who would undoubtedly inquire on-sight out of concern.

But it was Barley—ever the quick thinker—who’d chimed in with a suggestion about Guinevere having suffered a flat tire.

Iandore found himself too fatigued to smile pridefully at his elder sibling’s unmatched wit in taxing situations, but his blameless eyes rang true as he watched the bigger man spin his tale to their (rightfully worried) mother once they were both safely inside.

“Well,  _ alright _ ,” Laurel offered, hands on her hips as Blazey wove between them. “But, I want you  _ both _ out of those wet clothes and into something warm,  _ pronto _ . And if you haven’t eaten yet, I can fix something  _ hot _ to warm you both up.”

Amber and axinite exchanged knowing looks—one set of eyes vaguely more amused than the other—as the siblings went their separate ways.

After changing, Barley gladly accepted his mother’s offer; a large mug of hot soup placed into the pruned chill of his grip. But Iandore (much to Laurel’s chagrin) informed them that he’d lost his appetite earlier in the night due to the chill of the rain, and the stress of ‘Gwinny’s flat’.

Upon informing the room of his plans to try and sleep off his fatigue, the delicate teen made his way upstairs and into the subtle glow of his bedroom; doe-eyes gliding over the photographs above his desk as he padded across the polished hardwood flooring, and tucked himself into bed without a second thought.

Everything brewing within him now, he hoped he would find settled into complacency by morning.

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LmaoILoveOnward123 and HotBarley, thank you so much for commenting on Chapter 2! It means so much to us!

The next morning, Barley woke to the mouthwatering smell of coffee and bacon. He dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen, where he found Ian setting bacon onto a plate from the pan. A pot of coffee sat nearby, and Barley immediately swiped a mug and went for it. 

“Morning,” he croaked, and had to clear his throat. He noticed that Ian also had eggs on the stove, as well as toast. “Smells great. What’s the occasion?”

The sound of Barley’s gravelly voice sent unseen shivers down the pastel youth’s lightly-freckled spine, causing playful eyes to scan the slightly-hunched contours of their elder’s posture.

“ _Occasion_?” Ian chuckled softly, “ _Uhm_ . . . Well, Mom and _Colt_ went out for a _playdate_ and some groceries? A-And, I wanted to _thank_ you for . . . _last_ _night_ , so . . .”

He trailed off, nimble fingers making quick work of assembling a (rather generous) plate for his boisterous sibling; shutting off the stove and crossing the kitchen to place the medley of eggs, bacon and toast at the table before an empty chair.

Barley watched his little brother move about the kitchen. He looked comfortable and relaxed, so different than he had the night before. Barley was glad to see him this way. Still, there was something in him wondering if he had always found Ian so cute, or if his perception of him had changed. Well of course he had always been cute. But now Barley's fingers itched to take hold of him and give him a squeeze, and not entirely in a 'roughhousing' kind of way. 

He finally snapped out of it when Ian walked past him with a tantalizing plate of his favorite breakfast foods. He followed him to the table and sunk into a chair, digging in immediately. "Mmm!" With a cheek full of food, he said, "You really don't have to thank me for anything, but it's physically impossible for me to turn down breakfast. So... thanks." He continued to watch Ian, warm affection in his eyes. But when Ian glanced his way under a fan of long lashes, Barley quickly turned back to his plate. 

Iandore found himself caught somewhere between a grimace and a smirk at the ferocity in which Barley attacked his first meal of the day. While he would never admit to it aloud; he found his brother’s vigor and gusto particularly charming.

And in that moment, charming was doing a lot more for him than he was accustomed to.

“ _ Slow down _ ,” the svelte teen teased under his breath, soft hands raising his own mug of coffee to his full lips; taking a long drink as he studied the bristle on his elder’s jaw. “H-How’d you sleep?”

"Not bad," Barley said. "Mom gave me some of her sleepy-time tea after soup, and I swear that stuff is magic. I wouldn't wake up if the house were on fire." Barley glanced at Ian's mug of coffee. "You going to make me eat breakfast alone?"

A confectioner’s chocolate gaze immediately dropped to the space between them as Ian took an exceptionally long drink of his — twice-sugared and over-creamed — beverage. 

“I-I grabbed some toast when I made  _ yours _ ,” he assured, smiling ever-so-softly over the edge of his mug before placing it onto the table. “How’s the food, by the way? I-Is it  _ okay _ ? Bacon’s not  _ too _ burned, right?”

"Oh no, the bacon's perfect. In fact…" he lifted a piece from his plate and held it out in front of Ian's face, wiggling it a little. Barley gave him a smug smile, both playful and determined. He wasn't going to fall for the toast nonsense.

Ian’s brows furrowed, an expression of nervousness overtaking him beneath the thin veil of a polite smile, as he hesitantly took a single bite off of the end of Barley’s bacon strip. Thin fingers reached out to rest against the denseness of his brother’s calloused hand then; gently nudging it (and the remainder of the bacon) away as he nodded to himself.

“N-Not bad, I  _ guess _ ,” he shrugged. “I’m  _ really _ not hungry, though . . . I-If you want, you can feed me  _ later _ ? What’s on the, uhm . . . What are you doing today?” he tossed, quickly discarding the subject of food.

Barley didn’t push any more food on him, for now. He took another bite of the strip he was holding, and chewed. “Guess it depends on you. If you’re busy, I’m just gonna go to Tower Records and look for the new Orcblood album. But if you feel like hanging out, I was thinking…” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee. “There’s this Magical History Museum in downtown Cloverton, with a whole collection of antique wands and spell books, and a ton of other things. Thought it might be a good rainy day activity.” Barley took a bite of eggs.

Ian’s posture relaxed a bit as Barley informed him about an upcoming release from a band the young mage knew to be one of his elder’s favorites.

That is, before the Quest Master’s suggestion to spend the day together; Iandore scarcely allowed the word ‘ _ activity’  _ to fully escape Barley’s lips before he chimed in: 

“That sounds — That would be  _ great _ ,” he smiled, ears perking ever-so-slightly.  “ _ I-I mean _ ,” he felt himself flush, brows furrowing as doe-eyes rolled nonchalantly. “I’ll go with you, i-if you take a shower first,” he teased, his trademark anxious smile relighting his full lips.

Snorting, Barley rolled his neck, cracking it in the process. He groaned dramatically and took another bite before standing. “Fine. I’ll take a shower, if you eat a little more. We’ll use the trust system.”

Barley turned before Ian could say anything and headed upstairs. 

After sudsing up and scrubbing down, Barley rinsed and got out of the shower. He threw on some deodorant and body spray, and got dressed. With his hair still wet, he shoved his hat into his pocket. 

“You ready?”

Iandore tossed a curious look over his shoulder as he finished drying his elder’s plate; unable to stifle a smirk as he took in the sight of his brother’s nearly identical outfit.

“ _ You _ look nice,” he teased, putting the last of the dishes away before turning to face the boisterous gamer in-full.

“ _ Ah _ ,” his smirk broadened as he approached Barley — snatching a slice of buttered toast on his way—tearing off a moderate piece and sliding it into the soft warmth of his mouth. “You  _ shaved your neck _ ? Just for  _ me _ ?” he giggled, tone doused in artificial sweetener as he lifted the remaining majority of the toast and tapped it into Barley’s mouth.  “What a  _ gentleman _ .”

Barley’s gaze lifted from Ian to the wall behind him, face heating up as he opened his mouth and took the slice of toast. As Ian walked on, he bit down and reached up, tearing off the rest. He turned and watched as his younger brother headed out the door. 

  * **• •**



The drive to Cloverton was about forty five minutes, and then another fifteen just getting through the congested town square. They found a car garage to park in, and used the umbrella to walk to the museum. It wasn’t raining in sheets like yesterday, but there was enough that it was necessary. 

Once they were in, Barley checked his umbrella as well as both of their coats, and paid the entry fee. The sound of rain outside grew softer as they went in. The museum consisted of a series of rooms, each connected into a long loop. Sometimes the two of them stuck together, while other times they drifted apart, reading plaques and studying the artifacts. 

Barley’s heart dropped when he saw a display of phoenix gem shards, ones that had been used and no longer carried power. Not wanting Ian to see, he pointed at something in the next room and practically dragged him over there to look.

Allowing his brawny sibling to walk him over to an especially well-lit display, Iandore’s valentine eyes zeroed in on a collection of wooden staffs; much like his own, but far more ornate. He couldn’t help but covet a few of them, gnawing at his lower lip in half-hearted jealousy as he tucked his hands beneath his arms.

“These are awesome,” he commented, willing away a brief wash of unpleasant memories. “I-Its too bad they don’t  _ sell _ staffs like these anywhere,” Ian sighed, casting his gaze to Barley in hopes of creating a mild distraction for himself.

He struggled not to recall the twisted beauty of their father’s staff; now lost to the roiling waves at the foot of the cliffs where—

“A-Are you having  _ fun _ ? Find anything  _ cool _ you wanna show me?”

“Oh, just everything,” Barley said casually as he wandered. “Over here is the staff that Merlin’s cousin wielded, and over here is  _ the _ crystal ball that predicted the Mermaid Wars! Oh wow, check out this next room!” 

Barley waited for Ian to follow him, and then they looked around together. The next room held tall glass cases with mannequins inside, wearing various delicate wizard’s robes. Many of them were made of soft velvet, patched and frayed and threadbare. Barley paused at one with a reddish brown tone, and his eyes widened. “Hooh, this one actually used to be white. It was owned by Klaus the Beheader. He had a magic axe mounted to the end of his staff.”

Iandore grimaced into an almost-smile at the blood-stained tale his sibling wove, chocolate-glazed leer narrowing as he dragged it back to his exuberant companion. “B- _ Barley _ ,” he winced, finding himself unable to feign politeness in that moment, “ _ that’s _ . . . That’s pretty  _ gross _ , man.”

And then—just-behind his brother’s mystified head—a duplex of neon signs spelling out the possibilities of a non-bloodborne distraction caught the frail wizard’s eye:  _ Gift Shoppe / Treatery _

_ Anything _ sounded more entertaining to him in that moment than a millennia old bloodstained robe.

“ _Uhm,_ what about _this_?” he chirped then, taking the quester’s calloused hand into the softness of his own and pulling him along. “Your gut’s _failing_ you, Barley. There was food _right_ _here_ the _entire_ time, and you didn’t even _know_ it,” he chuckled as they entered.

Just as the sign inferred, the business appeared to be split into two distinct halves. The side they’d entered seemed to be a gift shop of sorts, and the other side—separated by a glass wall—was a confectionery.

“What’s your  _ gut _ say, Barley?  _ Collectables _ , or  _ candy _ ?”

It took a moment for Barley’s brain to catch up, as his entire focus was on the dainty hand closed around his. His heart was beating like crazy, stomach doing little flips. And the strange thing was, he’d never once reacted this way to Lily’s touch. 

When he finally snapped out of it, he hummed, looking at the choices. Frowning, he said, “You know, for once in my life I think food isn’t the right option. See, I can get food anywhere. But authentic magical trinkets and wares? I’m thinking it’s a ‘hands down’ for me.”

Still holding Ian’s hand, they walked into the high end store, where antiques and rare items were neatly displayed. On one end was a glass case stretching the expanse of the small shop, with a row of a dozen different staffs. They’d wandered there together, and both of them studied the different staffs. 

“Wow,” Barley murmured. One of the staffs twisted like a spiral at the end, with a porous black stone in the center. Barley read the description. “Yeah, this is what I thought. That’s a rock from the Lucidian Lava Pit. These staffs are especially good for communicating. Plants, animals, even the Earth. Ooh and look at this one with the green wood! Especially good at enhancing transfiguration spells!”

Iandore’s pinky wound itself around Barley’s forefinger as the man explained the best usage of each wand within the crystalline display case, eyes glistening with wonder as he listened intently. Regardless of the public’s general opinion of him, Barley’s extensive knowledge on mystical and magical artifacts never ceased to amaze the lithe teen; unable to stop himself from imagining a world in which perhaps his elder brother would make a fine curator for a museum such as this one.

_ Someday _ , perhaps.

“I can’t even believe they’re  _ selling _ some of these . . . This one is  _ really _ pretty,” Ian murmured then; a highly polished, nearly-white staff standing out amongst the others to him. “Th-They’re  _ all _ nice, though,” he smiled, giving his brother’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “A little  _ pricey _ . . . But, maybe sometime soon,” he sighed, lower lip worried once more as he worked through his covetousness. 

Barley hadn’t failed to notice the price tags either, which ranged from six hundred to twelve hundred. The pale staff Ian had been eyeing was an even thousand. 

“Definitely soon,” Barley said, stating it like a fact. “If we save up and sell a few things I think we’ll be able to get it in a couple months.”

Ian’s eyes softened as he glanced up at the older Lightfoot, then back to the staff he’d chosen behind the display case. 

“N- _ No _ , Barley,” he scolded, squeezing the man’s hand a little more tightly, “We’re not gonna  _ sell  _ anything for a staff at a  _ gift shop _ , man. I-I’ll figure something out! I-I could get a better Summer job this year, and stop screwing around with fast food,” he offered, lightening the intensity of his grip. 

“I-Its not  _ your _ responsibility to pay for something like that,” he assured, letting go of his elder’s hand; just long enough to hook their pinkies together instead.

Ian’s protests bounced off of Barley like paper balls, his smile unwavering. “Look, I’ve been waiting my whole life to have an actual real thing in common with you. Sure we have a good time just hanging out, but magic is… it’s our thing! It’s something we can do together! So I don’t see a problem with helping. Anyway, how often is this place going to get to sell a staff to an actual practicing wizard, instead of some collector? Come on, at least hold it.”

Before Ian could protest, Barley leaned over and called out to the woman at the register. “Excuse me, Ma’am?” 

The older woman glided out from behind the counter and approached them, assessing Barley like he was a potential hazard. “Can I help you, Sir?”

“Yes, please! My-” he stopped, suddenly realizing that it might not be a good idea to call Ian his brother while their fingers were entwined. “Ian here would like to hold your ashwood staff, please.” 

Full lips pressed into a thin line as doe-eyes narrowed slightly at Barley’s antics. Ian wanted to protest, but hadn’t been offered the opportunity—the brawny adventurer having craftily sealed his fate in a flurry of actions that would have been inconsiderate to interrupt.

Sighing, he unlatched their pinky-fingers, accepting the high-gloss radiance of the Ashwood staff from the clerk as she handed it to him.

“Th- _ Thanks _ ,” he smiled, tone small and frail in his throat as supple fingers trailed up and down the sleek length of the off-white wood. He inspected it here and there wordlessly; not entirely sure what he was looking for, but admiring the craftsmanship nonetheless.

A newfound gleam of mischief in his eye, the overwhelming need to test the efficacy of the staff swelled within him; and before he could hesitate (or truly think it through), he murmured a spell: “Exilis Bastia”.

A dainty shower of neon starfall glimmered around the flourished tip of the staff; a glow to match the wielding Cendrillon-hued l'enfant sparkling along the atmosphere for a moment . . .

And just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Still, the little mage couldn’t fight back a warm burst of laughter brought about by his tiny lightshow.

He looked to Barley, eyes gleaming with wonder as he handed the staff back to the bewildered clerk with a thankful nod. 

“It really  _ works _ , too,” he smiled, returning his hand to its rightful place within the calloused warmth of his elder sibling’s.

Barley squeezed his hand, neither of them paying much attention to the clerk. 

“Y-You’re an actual mage?!” The lady said, drawing their attention. “I’ve never… well that’s just brilliant!” While she had been cool and aloof moments ago, her eyes were now lit up as if the spell hadn’t already faded. 

Barley decided it might be a good opportunity to ask for a favor. “Yeah, isn’t it?” he agreed. “And we’d really love to buy this staff, but if I’m being honest, we need a little time to get the funds together. There’s no chance you’d hold this in the back, would you?”

The lady was smiling at Ian now as if he were her long lost grandson. “Hm? Oh.” Her brows drew together and she said. “We’ve never done anything like that, but I’m going to bring it to the back and speak to my manager. I’m sure we could make an exception for a real wizard.”

Thrilled, Barley nudged Ian with his shoulder. “That’s great, Ma’am! You are an absolute goddess!”

She chuckled, waving her free hand as she went to the counter. They followed her and she took down Barley’s number, and then they escaped to the cafe side of the museum building.

“That was a really _cool_ _thing_ you did, Barley,” Ian smiled up at his brother; gaze warm and alight with hopefulness. “I-I wouldn’t have thought to ask to have it held for me. _Thanks, man_ . . .”

At some point in their trek, the Lightfoot brothers’ hands lost contact, and instinctually, Ian found himself brushing against his elder’s arm for reassurance. The line to order at the self-appointed ‘Treatery’ was longer than the freckled conjuror would have liked, but it would give them plenty of time to select an item.

“S-So what do you  _ want _ ? Looks like . . . uhm, they really only have  _ sweets _ ? A-And I know you’re more of a  _ savory _ kinda guy,” Ian shrugged, chewing his lip thoughtfully. 

Barley shrugged. His focus had been on Ian’s proximity. Not that there was anything unusual about it, but something about this time and place felt like a spell had been cast, and they could just enjoy things without the complications. Barley reached for Ian’s little hand, taking it and running his thumb along Ian’s knuckle. 

Finally his brain caught up and he stammered, “Uhh, savory.. Yeah, that’s okay. I mean, sometimes I like sweet things. Certain things.”

Fresh-cut rose ran hot beneath the flurry of Ian’s freckles at the gamer’s absentminded words, a little giggle escaping him on reflex.

“B- _ Barley _ ,” Ian drew, elbowing the crafty brute in the arm gently. “Stop thinking about  _ Lily _ and focus on the menu,” he teased, tossing his brother a mischievous little smirk; lashes lowered and head shaking in mock disappointment.

“I’m gonna have the . . . Dwarven Chocolate Cake  _ and _ , uhm . . . an Iced Caramel Mocha,” he informed, humming to himself as he reconsidered briefly. “N-No.  _ That’s _ . . . That sounds good. How about you?”

Barley was still annoyed with the mention of Lily when the baker’s attention turned to him. Quickly he said, “Do any of these have peanut butter?”

“Well we have this one right here, chocolate and peanut b—”

“Perfect, I’ll take one. And can I get a large coffee with cream?”

“Sure, do you mean a venti?” 

Barley turned to Ian. “Do I want a venti?”

Rolling his valentine eyes with a scoff and a smirk, Ian squeezed his sibling’s hand on impulse (meant to chastise, but also jest).

“Yes, sir. He’ll have a Venti. And if you could add a  _ little _ salted pretzel crumble to the top of his order, that would be great,” the little mage chimed sweetly;  _ ‘pouring on the sugar’ _ , as his elder would say. “ _ Thanks _ ,” he smiled, a single flutter of his lashes offered to the baker before turning back to Barley, brows quirking.

“Don’t be  _ rude _ ,” he teased, grinning all the while as he guided them down the line and into the area where they would eventually be summoned to pay for (and collect) their orders. “What’s on your mind?”

Leaning against the counter, Barley said, “Lily is, actually.” 

Barley had to extract his hand from Ian’s when their orders arrived, and they carried their trays over to a seat by the window.

“O- _Oh_ . . .” the spellcaster mused, brows furrowing as he trailed behind his husky companion; taking a seat and carefully studying his elder’s composure before continuing. “Did . . . D-Did things not go _any_ _better_? Last night? I-I mean you told me that nothing really _happened_ . . . Was that a bad sign?”

Barley rolled his eyes. “I mean, you’re the one who brought her up on line a minute ago. I’m assuming you meant it as a joke, but I also think that means you want to talk about it.”

Ian balked, blinking owlishly as he glanced to the continued rainfall beyond their window-seat, as if it might provide him an answer to his brother’s sudden change of mood.

“U-Uhm . . . N-No, I — ” he swallowed, plucking his cake and specialty coffee from the tray and placing them before him. “I-I’m  _ sorry _ , man,” he offered, eyes downturned before raising to search his sibling’s once again. “I thought . . . I thought maybe — I didn’t  _ mean _ to make you  _ upset _ . I thought you  _ liked _ her.”

Barley gave Ian a deadpan stare. And then he reached for his dessert and swiped a finger through the creamy, peanut butter frosting. He sucked it off and said, “You’re a dancer, Iandore. You dance around things. But I’m not. I don’t know the steps, and sometimes I can’t keep up.” He pushed the dessert away and slid his coffee in front of him, absentmindedly picking at the lid. And then he continued, “If I liked Lily, I would have asked if you could take the  _ bus _ home last night. If I liked her, maybe I would have asked  _ her _ to spend the day with me. I might be… I dunno, sitting in a cafe with her over coffee.”

Ian’s full lips fell open for a moment, brows furrowing and head quirked in a look of precaution. 

“ _ Barley _ . . .” Ian breathed, silently hoping that if his honeyed eyes penetrated the penumbral rings of his brother’s for long enough, he would be able to fully understand the older man’s meaning. 

“Y-You— Why was I teaching you to  _ kiss _ her, i-if you didn’t even  _ like _ her?” he inquired next; feeling as though he’d found another slice of floorspace in which to pirouette. “What . . .  _ happened _ last night?”

Barley laughed. “Oh my God, Ian. Sometimes I just want to shake you. You needed me to pick you up at a shady bus stop after some prick dumped you off, you won’t even tell me what he did, and you think you have the right to ask how my night went? What happened with Lily and I?”

Before Ian got a chance to speak, Barley leaned closer so that they couldn’t be overheard. “What if I told you that she gave me another chance? That we had a good time at game night, and ended up making out in the van, where I put your kissing lesson to good use? What if I told you that she wanted to take it further, and we climbed into the back and fucked? And that’s where we were when you called?”

Baby-doll eyes snapped from their gooey confection to study the prickling gold of their sibling’s leer; an unbecoming shade of pale washing over their host, that quickly heated into rouge. Lithe hands curled into fists in their place against the table, releasing their grip on delicate palms before returning to handle silverware.

“I-I’m . . . Sorry I interrupted, man,” Iandore’s tone was strained, full lips squeezing into a tight line as he forced himself to slice into his cake and take a bite.

After a moment of chewing, he cleared his throat, tossing a haunted glance out the window and into the rainfall once again.

“I-I’m glad everything’s going well.” 

The lie turned to ashes in his mouth. 

It tasted metallic. 

It sounded hollow. 

It hurt to recite. 

“ _ Proud _ of you, Barley. Th- _ There’s _ that sense of adventure.”

He offered his brother a thin smile, taking a long drink of his overly-sweetened caffeine in hopes of washing down his emotions.

Watching his brother sink like a stone, Barley sighed. “Wow, that didn’t feel as satisfying as I was expecting.”

Ian’s ears perked a bit at his sibling’s sigh, brows furrowing in confusion.

“W-What? What do you mean?” Ian wondered, placing his mug on the table to carefully slice at his cake; not intending to take a bite just then.

Barley took a long drink, his hot coffee burning on the way down. And then he set that aside too. “Alright Ian, listen up. I tried being what I  _ thought _ was pretty honest and straightforward with you. I told you I’d be out with Lily today if I liked her. Since that didn’t seem to sink into that little noggin of yours, I tried the other end, spinning a tale about some passionate encounter in the back of my van. But that didn’t work either, because here you are continuing to act like nothing happened with us last week, and lying about your feelings.” 

Eyes of sweetened umber zeroed in on sunkissed honey once more; a thick swallow and a little clear of Ian’s throat offered as his only answer for a few moments. He sliced his cake, and took a quick bite, chewing thoughtfully — never once breaking their eye contact.

“I-It seems more like,  _ you _ — ” his eyes dropped to catch a flex in Barley’s bicep, “m-maybe  _ you _ have s-some things  _ you _ think we should talk about.”

“No shit,” Barley laughed. At this point he was ready to flip the table and drive off into the bottomless pit. But he stayed where he was, rubbing his face. He was ready to cry out of sheer frustration. “Ian, can you just tell me one thing that’s true? Just one thing.”

The little mage’s posture stiffened as he watched his brother scrub at his face; wistful gaze checking for tears in his elder’s eyes as he absorbed what the bigger man had inquired of him.

_ ‘One thing that’s true.’ _

**_One thing_ ** .

Was that  _ really _ so much to ask?

Why was it so hard for him to be  _ honest _ ? With  _ Barley _ ? His  _ brother _ ? His  _ protector _ ?

Iandore watched the muscles and tendons in the quester’s broad hands flex and roil as he rubbed at his face—

“Th- _Three_ _things_ ,” he began, soap-bubble frailty in his voice. “I-I _love_ you. A-And, I’m _sorry_ . . . And I just want you t-to be _happy_ —W-With the _right_ _person_.”

He reached across the table then, placing his trembling fingers upon Barley’s forearm; finding the man’s muscles were swollen and dense, the entirety of his hulking frame drawn tightly enough to snap. On instinct, he drew back, afraid that the additional pressure of his touch alone would be enough to push the man over the edge.

Barley felt his heart soften once more, some of his frustration easing back. He reached for Ian, closing his hand lightly over the other’s. “Think you can manage one more?” he said, his tone gentler than a moment ago. “Can you tell me why you’re sorry?”

The calloused hand taking hold of his own forced Ian’s gaze — precipitation building therein — to slowly meet the softened thunderstorm of his brother’s. The gentle giant who had only a moment ago been so high-strung and tightly wound, had immediately calmed at a few simple truths.

“I-I’m sorry for— ” a single tear, followed by another, “I-I’ve been l- _ lying _ . . . A-About  _ Lily _ .” He began, squeezing the denseness of his sibling’s hand as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored in place. “A-About  _ everything _ . About _ all kinds _ of stuff—I-I didn’t know . . . I didn’t—I’m  _ jealous _ . Of Lily. O-Of  _ the last few girls _ , maybe . . . I-I’m really  _ sorry _ , Barley.”

“It’s okay,” Barley said, bringing his other hand up to thumb away the tear on Ian’s soft face. He was shocked to hear that it hadn’t only been Lily, that maybe Ian had been struggling with his thoughts for much longer. “How about… How about I tell you something too? Since you want me to be happy with the right person, it’s probably a good time to tell you that I don’t think Lily’s the one. I’d honestly rather be single than to get back with her.”

The willowy spellcaster couldn’t help but press into the dry warmth of Barley’s thumb, eyes slipping shut for a moment before opening to zero-in on the bold graphic of his sibling’s band tee.

“O- _ Okay _ ,” Ian nodded, sniffling softly as he tried to collect himself. “M-Maybe being single for a while would be  _ good _ ?” he offered, not entirely sure where to direct the conversation, but feeling heavily exposed. “It could . . . g-give you some time to think a-about what you  _ want _ — from  _ the next girl _ ?”

He forced himself to chuckle then— if not for his sake, then for Barley’s—drawing a shuddering breath as he joked: “S-Someone who doesn’t accuse you of being  _ a bad kisser _ , next time.”

Barley stared at him. “You know I really liked the Ian from three minutes ago. The one who was being honest with me. Even if he is jealous of my girlfriends. Can that Ian come back for a little longer? Maybe while we talk about what happened last week?”

A bit of the warmth having escaped his elder brother’s voice in that moment, Ian found his eyes slipping closed once again; centering himself, or at least attempting to. His flourished ears sank a bit more, brows pinched into a point as he opened his dewy eyes to stare blankly at Barley’s mostly untouched cake.

He felt himself slide back into his seat— moving away from the bulky Quest Master’s touch entirely as he worried his bottom lip—wrapping his wiry arms around himself in hopes of providing comfort.

“Sure, man.  _ Shoot _ . Let’s talk,” he smiled numbly; eyes still focused on Barley’s confection, and not anywhere near the man himself.

Barley did not like the sound of that. Ian’s tone was the tone of someone who had already quit trying. But Barley wasn’t ready to let go. He said, “From the way I saw it, you offered to help, I accepted, and we both got a little carried away. And maybe, you got a little more carried away than I did.” He smiled at Ian gently, hoping that Ian would see that it was alright. “Does that seem about right so far?”

Iandore nodded, the crease in his brow softening as he raised his eyes from the elder Lightfoot’s cake, to the man’s solid gut. “ _ Yeah _ , that’s fair,” he offered, tone cool and steady. “A-And I’m  _ sorry _ about that,” he added swiftly, fingers digging into the palms of his hands beneath his arms. “I-I shouldn’t have  _ encouraged  _ that.”

"Mm, maybe not," Barley mused, sitting back. "But you know, getting caught up in the moment is not the worst thing anyone's ever done. And you know I feel guilty too, right? I uhm…" He chewed his lip. "I feel guilty because I think the natural reaction is to be put off. But I just… I really like the idea of  _ us _ . And I don't even know if this is just an attraction thing to you, if it's just some physical or hormonal whatever thing. Maybe how I feel is even more messed up."

Doe-eyes gleamed curiously at the older man’s admittance, quickly flitting to meet liquid gold. Iandore almost wasn’t certain of what he’d heard . . .

“Th- _ The idea of us _ ?” he squeaked, voice almost unable to contain his volume. “L-Like . . . t- _ together _ ? Like a r- _ relationsh _ — . . . C- _ Commitm _ —?” he stammered, unable to finish anything he was saying; childlike eyes rounding incredulously.

An especially rosy flush flooded his features; neck, ears, cheeks and nose kissed by the fire of fresh blood. He looked this way and that as if to ensure they hadn’t been overheard (as though anyone in the museum knew either of them), leaning in closely to inquire: 

“I-Is that something we could even  _ do _ ?”

Barley was equally red at that point, mostly because of his brother's reaction. There was a short moment when he had to wonder if Ian really  _ had _ just seen this as a physical thing, and if the direction of Barley's thoughts was alarming or frightening. 

But then Ian's words gave him a little hope. He said, "I mean, I don't even know. We wouldn't be able to tell anyone." Barley swallowed, lowering his voice. "Look, I know this is- I know it's kind of insane that we're even talking about this. If you don't like what I'm saying, more importantly than anything else, you need to be honest and tell me." 

Ian’s gaze flitted here and there; mostly skating along the muscle and curves of his elder’s dense body. 

“I- _ If _ . . .  _ What _ if—” he shook his head, brows furrowing and eyes softening. “W-What if you don’t . . .” he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words.

The fragile spellcaster was very nearly feeling every emotion his little body could muster in that moment. 

_ Joy, excitement, humor, sorrow,  _ **_fear_ ** . . .

“What if you decide I-I’m _not_ . . . g- _good_ _enough_ _for you_ , Barley?” Ian finally murmured; fingers once again tightening into little fists. “We . . . We _live_ together, man. I-If things go south . . .” he shook his head, heaving a shuddering sigh.

“Ian,” Barley said, his tone edging on chastising. “Give me some credit. I would never feel that way about you. But… I’m not going to lie and promise this would work. Nobody knows that.” He let out a breath. “I do want it to, though.”

Ian pursed his lips for a moment, considering what was being laid out before him. He leaned forward a bit, resting his point elbows on the table; eyes lowered as a second flush kissed his pastel complexion.

“B- _ Barley _ , I just . . . I-I don’t know if  _ I’m _ the kind of person you’d wanna  _ commit _ to,” he mused, gaze lifting to zero-in on the bigger man’s tattoo once again (partially out of admiration, partially out of anxiousness). “M- _ Maybe _ —” he glanced up to catch his sibling’s eyes sheepishly, extending a nervous smile. “Y-You could just k- _ keep seeing _ the kinds of girls you  _ liked _ , a-and I could be there  _ to fall back on _ ?”

Chocolate eyes catching a flex of muscle and tension once again, the young mage quickly tumbled back in with: 

“I-I-It could be _fun_ , right? A-And _less_ _pressure_. _Best of both worlds_?”

Barley’s heart sunk. He was in shock, unsure what to make of this. “Is that what you would want? More than just being together?”

Ian’s breath caught in his throat as he parroted back the phrase, “ _ Just being together _ ?”

There was something in his brother’s eyes just then. Something—

“B- _ Barley _ ,  **_hey_ ** ,” he smiled meekly, reaching to rest his chilled hand against his sibling’s warm forearm. “I-It’s  _ not _ what you  _ think _ ,” he assured, shaking his head gently. “I-I just . . . wouldn’t want  _ to tie you down _ like that.  _ You’re _ . . .  **_We’re_ ** still growing. There’s . . . so much that could  _ happen _ —” he heaved a heavy sigh, clearly frustrated with himself.

“ _ No _ . The  _ truth _ ,” he corrected himself, “I-I’m  _ scared _ , Barley. I don’t  _ deserve _ you.  _ That’s _ the  _ truth _ .”

“Oh,” Barley murmured, not having expected that. He stared at Ian for a moment and then laughed. It was a happy, musical laugh, followed by an apology. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh after you tried so hard to be honest. But… that’s ludicrous to me.” Suddenly Barley was standing, grabbing his coffee and cake. He gestured to the cake. “Ian, do you want this? I’m gonna pitch it otherwise.”

Iandore gnawed his lower lip as his elder laughed off his concerns and stood out of his touch. He faltered—temporary shock overtaking him as his mind sifted through his haze of disappointment—before taking a stand.

“N- _ No _ it's okay,” he offered, smiling uneasily and following after his brother as he discarded his baked treat; doing the same with his own (mostly uneaten one) a moment later.

“Where to  _ now _ ?” he chirped, artificial sweetener in his voice as he attempted to steady his mood.

But it didn’t quite meet his eyes, his mind still calculating and recalibrating the exchange that had just transpired. 

He’d given Barley what he’d been asking for. Honesty. And his brother had laughed at him.

Just then—somewhere deep down—the petite magician decided he liked it better when his brother was angry with him, than when he laughed in his face.

After throwing away the remnants of food and drink, Barley and Ian headed down the street to the car garage. Being out of town, Barley felt like it was safe enough to hold Ian’s hand in public, and so he happily did so. In the elevator to the top of the car garage, he realized that Ian had been rather quiet. He glanced sideways at him and was surprised by the lost look on his face. 

“Ian? What’s wrong?”

Ian’s thoughtful expression brightened at his sibling’s inquiry, a chipper smile stretched across dainty features.

“N- _ Nothing _ , man.  _ Why _ ? Everything okay?” his voice was light, a bit aloof— the hand within Barley’s completely limp as he let his brother guide him. “Did you . . . forget where we parked for a second there?” he chuckled dryly, following behind his elder as they strode through the empty rooftop floor of the parking garage to arrive at Guinevere the Second. Luckily, the heavy rain clouds above had momentarily ceased to pour. 

“Hmm,” Barley murmured suspiciously. “Ian, something’s up with you. What is it? Did I say something?”

Barley could scarcely finish his final sentence before Iandore was intercepting him: 

“It’s  _ fine _ . I-I’m  _ fine _ ,” he sighed, but his fawn-like eyes were agleam with dissonance.

“I-I just told you the  _ truth _ like y-y-you said you  _ wanted _ , a-and you  **_laughed_ ** in my fucking face in front of a-all those people?  _ No big deal _ , man— ” the little mage yanked his hand out of his brother’s then, shaking his head incredulously.  “W-What do you . . . T-Tell me how to m-make you  _ happy _ , Barley. I-I-I— ” a hysteric chuckle escaped him, “I’ve been  _ trying _ , man. I-I-I’ve been trying to  _ figure it out _ for a week! Can you  **_help_ ** me?”

Barley gaped at him, shocked and alarmed, but he immediately had to stifle another laugh. “Hey,” he said, “Hey!” Ian was trying to avoid him but Barley grabbed him before he could get away, holding him by his upper arms. Barley forced Ian to turn and face him. “Hey, you listen to me, Ian. I want you to try and picture your  _ favorite _ person in the whole goddamn world. You’ve loved them  _ forever _ . They’re the light of your fucking life. You’d happily bend over backwards for them. You’d die for them. They’re your  _ sweet baby  _ that you can’t get enough of. And then imagine them feeling like they aren’t good enough for you. Pff.” He shook his head. “It’s laughable.” Barley took Ian’s face in both hands. “That’s how it is, Ian. That’s why I laughed. But I  _ am _ sorry for hurting your feelings. You know I would never do that on purpose.”

Iandore’s erratic composure slowly dissolved as his arms were taken and he was forced to face the older Lightfoot. The man’s words — cheerful and bright and pleading all at once—lit the spade-shaped flourishes of his ears; filling him with all the reassurance he needed in that moment.

But truthfully, he wasn’t sure how to metabolize it. His fury subsided at some point in his elder’s explanation, but he wasn’t sure how to feel. 

Was he relieved? 

Was he . . .  _ happy _ ?

But before he knew it, he was laughing along with Barley; a glass-like chime to dance against Barley’s own. As his face was held, he found himself reaching up to place his hands against the back of his brother’s.

“I-If you don’t kiss me right now, I’m gonna cry again,” he threatened with a chuckle, brows furrowing as he watched his elder’s lips expectantly.

Barley chuckled, grinning ear to ear. And then he pulled Ian closer and kissed him. This time, Barley didn’t have to think about it. He moved his lips against Ian’s, hands drifting to wrap around his little waist. 

He reached down farther and put his arms around Ian’s thighs, lifting him easily and grinning up at the smaller elf. “You’re coming with me,” he said, carrying him toward the van.

Ian couldn’t help but let out a little squeak as he was lifted; eyes wide with wonder as he giggled.

“O- _ Okay _ , I’m coming,” he smiled awkwardly, next eying the van with an aura of disbelief. “I-In the  _ van _ ?” he inquired; but before he’d finished the question, his brawny sibling was supporting his weight one-handedly and throwing open the back of Guinevere. “I- _ In the van _ , then,” he noted, smiling at the little moments of intense gentleness in which he was handled during certain movements or actions.

It was as if the bigger man had been doing this his entire life . . .

And indeed he had been.

Barley carefully placed the little fey on the dingy floor then; Iandore gingerly moving aside to allow his older sibling entrance.

The back of Barley’s van was messy, to say the least, with boxes of random odds and ends surrounding something like a blanket and pillow nest on the floor, where Barley occasionally napped. Barley closed the door behind them and moved closer to Ian, coaxing him to lie down with him. “Promise you won’t review this on Yelp,” he muttered.

Ian offered a wry chuckle, rolling his eyes as he was coaxed into his brother’s strange little pile of warmth and softness. 

“Sweet  _ nest _ , dude,” the little mage smirked, cuddling up to the burly quester with a sigh of contentment. “S- _ So _ . . .  _ What _ , uhm . . .” the sunkissed teen trailed off, placing a tiny kiss against Barley’s stubble. “N- _ Nap _ time?” he inquired, doe-eyes gleaming curiously in the dreary light.

Barley had already busied himself with nuzzling and touching the teen, large hand running down his side. “Mmm, yeah, I think you’re gonna need one when I’m finished.”

Ian couldn’t help but snort at his brother’s immense confidence; something the gamer was well known for in their circle. 

“Is that _so_?” he mocked, giving another quick roll of his eyes as he pressed the fullness of his lips into the needy hunger of his elder’s. “C-Can I keep being _honest_ with you?” he inquired next, breaking their kiss for a moment. “S-So you know . . . _the_ _other_ _night_? When we were— _in_ _your_ _room_?” he cut himself off, flushing at the memory “I-I-I _felt_ . . . you. I-It was through your shorts, but . . . A-And . . . I’m kinda _scared_?” Ian offered an uneasy smile, unable to keep his gaze from sinking to the gamer’s fly.

It was Barley’s turn to flush red. “That’s…! I mean, I know it’s big, but it’s not… is it?”

Ian snorted, slapping Barley’s chest weakly with a shake of his head.

“ _Barley_ , cut the shit. You _have_ to know it’s . . .” he paused, doe-eyes softening a bit. “O- _Oh_ . . . No one’s ever . . . _seen_ _it_ before? T-To _tell_ you?” he murmured, blinking twice in realization as he watched the developing bulge in his sibling’s shorts. “We’re gonna . . . We’re gonna _figure_ _it_ _out_ ,” he smiled meekly, returning his gaze to the bashful marigold of his elder’s.

“ _ We’re gonna figure it out... _ ” Barley repeated before releasing a nervous chuckle. “Well, I don’t have lube anyway, so...” He traced the curve of Ian’s shoulder and then touched the top button of his shirt, wanting very much to undo it. Voice lowering a bit, he said, “I just want to have fun with you, whatever we can do.” He leaned in, kissing Ian’s lips. “I want to make you feel good. Want you to tell me what you like, how you like to be touched. Would you?”

Ian’s freckled cheeks felt a fresh kiss of fire at the elder Lightfoot’s deepened tone; but the words that followed were what put him over the edge.

“I-I-I wanna make y- _ you _ feel good,  _ too _ ,” the willowy mage stammered, composure having completely dissolved. “I-I . . . I like uhm,” he averted his gaze for a moment, pressing his lips together. “I like a-all  _ kinds _ of things, but . . . Y-You can’t be afraid to  _ hurt _ me, o- _ okay _ ? I-I’m not made of  _ glass _ . I’m  _ eighteen _ . Treat me like a  _ man _ ,” he informed; tone frail, quivering and youthful despite his indignance.

“ _ Of course _ I’ll treat you like a man,” Barley said in a placating tone, although he still didn’t really know what that meant. He pushed Ian’s shoulder so that he’d lie on his back, and shifted so that he was partially over him. He kissed Ian’s neck and said, “Unbutton your shirt.” 

Iandore’s breath hitched at the kiss to his neck, soft hands reaching to pull at Barley’s head, urging his lips and mouth closer to the warm pulsation of his throat.

“T-Try _biting_ _down_ a little?” he shuddered, his plea forcing a fresh wave of heat to his cheeks. “A-And if you want my shirt off . . . _You_ take it off,” he sassed, trying to firm his tone. “Just _rip_ it _open_ i-if it's in your way.”

Barley sat up a little, staring at Ian. With mock outrage he said, “Hey, I am not just some burly meathead-” he grabbed two handfuls of the front of Ian’s shirt… “...that you can just ask to-” he ripped the shirt open with minimal effort, buttons flying everywhere... “...tear your clothes off.” He looked down at Ian with satisfaction, his little brother’s bare chest rising and falling. “Or, maybe I am.” 

Diving down, Barley returned to Ian’s neck, kissing and sucking, grazing his teeth over the delicate skin before he bit down hard enough to leave welts. And then, now that Ian’s shirt was open, Barley made his way down, delving into a self-indulgent exploration. He felt Ian’s skin with his lips and tasted his nipple, his thumb brushing against the other one. 

Ian yelped as his lissome body was jostled by the force of his brother’s ripping— not receiving enough time to comment before the tenderness of his neck was taken into an invading set of slightly offset teeth.

And then, Barley delved lower.

He couldn’t help the little noises that escaped him as his fists tangled in the bigger man’s cerulean tresses, hungry chocolate eyes admiring the way bristled lips traveled the expanse of his pastel complexion; leaving hints of pink and redness as they went.

“Y-You’re hands are _rough_ ,” the frail magician choked, leaning into the calloused touch of his elder’s thumb against his nipple. “I-It feels _nice_ ,” he smiled through another gasp. “A-Are you _sure_ y-y-you haven’t _done_ _this_?” he wondered aloud, pushing his brother’s head lower as he greedily pressed his denim-concealed need into the man’s chest.

“Nope,” Barley murmured, feeling slightly drugged on the incredible sensation of Ian’s hands in his hair. “I’m just… very into you.” He switched, moving his lips to Ian’s other nipple. He licked and then blew on it, watching the little nub perk up even more. And then he closed his mouth around it and sucked. His hand drifted down the smooth expanse of Ian’s tummy and then over his jeans, palming the bulge in his fitted denim. 

Unable to keep himself from bucking into the palm on the front of his fly, Ian offered a choked little groan as he wound his fists more tightly in his sibling’s choppy hair, eyes squeezing shut as he metabolized the situation.

His elder brother—who mysteriously cherished him above all other things—was nibbling at his nipples, and palming his hardness.

“ _ Really—i-into me _ ?!” Ian groaned, incredulously. “B- _ Barley _ , j-just—” he paused to buck again, a frustrated little groan escaping him. “I-I-I just wanna make  _ you _ cum,” his hands were trembling in their place against his sibling’s scalp. “You don’t have to—do  _ me _ . I-I can do it  _ later _ ,” he suggested, tone almost pleading.

He thought back to all the times he’d been coerced into servicing others; his own need left untouched until he was safely at home.

There were a combination of reasons for this: The  _ first _ being, the men he’d been with thus-far were only interested in their  _ own  _ orgasms. And the  _ second _ being, that Iandore wasn’t remarkably well endowed.

Yet one more insecurity.

“I-I don’t think i-i-its _worth_ _your_ _time_. I-I can just make _you_ cum.”

Barley released Ian’s nipple with a pop, his hand stilling on his brother’s jeans. He looked up at Ian’s face. “Hey, this may be Amateur Hour, but I’d at least like to try.” He gave Ian a snarky smile. “You can keep coaching me.”

Ian couldn’t help but offer a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he watched the brawny gamer halt his oral ministrations. 

“I-I-Its _just_ . . . I wanna—” he chewed his lip as he stared into his brother’s stunning golden eyes; at a complete loss for words. “W-Why do you have to l- _look_ _at_ _me_ like that?” he inquired, feeling his face heat up again. “I-Its so _unfair_. When did you get _so_ —You _just_ . . . _Nevermind_. Just keep going,” he mumbled, the last bit nearly inaudible as he forced himself to relax.

“Wait, what?” Barley said, entirely confused. He crawled up again, resting on his elbows as he looked down at Ian. “What’s unfair?”

Ian felt lightheaded as he watched his brother move; rippling muscle and rounded bulk flexing as he went. But it only served to make his point: 

“You’re just . . . Y-You’re so cute— _ Hot _ ? C-Can I say—You’re  _ hot _ , okay?” he whined, doe-eyes narrowing as he watched the luminous hazel pools of his brother’s gaze threaten to pull him under. “A-And when you  _ look _ at me, sometimes i-its hard to  _ think _ . . . It’s like . . . You’re  _ sexy _ , alright? That’s it _.” _

Barley was a little speechless. And after a moment he said, “I have to remember this. I never want to forget you lying there with your ears all pink and your shirt torn open, singing my praises. This might be the best I’ve ever felt.” He went back to trailing light kisses along Ian’s body before he reached his jeans, and began to undo them.

Unsure of what to think in that moment, the svelte wizard merely smiled lackadaisically as he acknowledged his elder’s ego had been aptly stroked; but his posture stiffened once again as the man reached for the button of his skin-tight jeans.

“I-I showered _this_ _morning_ , but . . .” he paused, flustered and clearly uncomfortable, “i-i-its _been_ a few hours.” 

His (needless) warning sounded unusual, even to his own ears. Why couldn’t he just  _ relax _ ? This was  _ Barley _ . What was he so  _ afraid _ of?

“A-Are you  _ sure _ you just . . . Don’t want me to do  _ you _ ?”

“Yeah I’m super sure,” Barley said, once again looking up to study Ian’s expression. “Are you… Ian, if you’re uncomfortable, I don’t have to.”

Chocolate eyes locking with glimmering amber once again, Ian grimaced into a wavering smile.

_ Honesty _ . That’s what Barley would expect.

“I-I just . . . I-It’s  _ just _ — ”

But honesty, could sometimes be embarrassing.

“I-If I say stop, or slow down . . .  _ Could you _ ? It’s been— _ a while _ for me. I-I might finish fast.”

“Of course,” Barley said, relaxing a little. That was something he could do. He planted a kiss beneath Ian’s naval before undoing his jeans, taking his time as he gave Ian a chance to change his mind. He lifted the waistband of Ian’s underwear and slid it down with his jeans, leaving him bare. Barley resisted the urge to marvel at how lovely his brother looked, all exposed with his jeans at his ankles and his shirt tattered. His pretty prick was half hard, and Barley took it in hand and stroked him to life. 

Barley resisted the urge to meet his eye right then, not wanting to make his younger brother any more self-conscious. He licked his lips and closed his mouth around the soft tip, sinking down over it. The larger elf at least knew enough to keep his teeth away from the smooth and delicate skin, and relied on his judgment as he slid his tongue along the underside.

Blood thudding in his ears as his brother’s warm mouth closed around his length, Iandore’s nails couldn’t help but dig into his elder’s scalp; a strangled (especially loud) noise escaping him as he bucked into the enveloping warmth.

“B-B— _ Barley _ —" was all he could manage, watching as the gentle giant’s usually boastful lips easily took the entirety of him. “ _ O-Oh my god _ ,” the pale mage shuddered as his sibling began to bob up and down around his hardness; tongue shyly flicking across the sensitive head now and again.

“B-Barley slow down,” he strained, wiry arms and silken hands trying their best to halt the bulky quester’s actions. “I-It’s too good.”

Barley was more than glad to hear that. He slowed down immediately, making good on his promise. And then he reached up and put his hand over one of Ian's, encouraging him to push Barley's head down so that Ian could set the pace.

Emboldened by this invitation (if only just slightly), Ian hesitantly guided the eagerness of the elder Lightfoot’s mouth into a steady motion; oftentimes slow, but occasionally deeper and quicker. Thin fingers tangled in silky hair — bony hips occasionally raising to match the chosen pace—the sounds of shuddering breaths and trembling mewls filling the steel expanse of Guinevere.

Pleasure, so it would seem, was to be their soundtrack.

“ _ Barley _ ~” he drew, voice sounding more youthful in that moment than he would have preferred.

The sound of his own inexperience frustrated him, but he pressed on. 

“Y-You’re doing  _ so good _ ,” he praised breathily, the words scarcely audible. “I d-don’t  _ wanna _ cum, but . . .” he trailed off, lower lip thoroughly gnawed. “Not gonna  _ last _ much longer . . .”

And true to his word— despite wishing he could be selfish and continue pleasuring himself using his brother’s mouth—Iandore urged Barley’s bobbing motions to quicken. At this point, it felt more like he was slamming his hips into the sunny brute’s stubbled face; but he was too lost in pleasure to care.

His mewls and whimpers extended into strained cries: “ _ I-I’m gonna _ — ”

And so he did.

His release lasted longer than he expected; pulsation after pulsation of raw, hot pleasure flooding his loins as he shoved himself into Barley’s mouth as deeply as he could go; valentine eyes rolling back as stars danced before his vision . . .

But it was over soon enough; the dainty fingers tangled in the gamer’s hair loosening, and Ian’s lithe little body going limp. Deep, tremoring breaths wracked his narrow form as he coaxed the older man’s head to (slowly) release his dwindling erection. “I-Its  _ too much _ after I cum,” he smiled sympathetically, body still convulsing here and there.

“I-I-I’m  _ really _ sorry. I didn’t mean to finish  _ in your mouth _ , man. Y-You can spit it out. Dunno what came over me.”

Barley had been completely entranced by Ian’s pleasure, watching in awe once Ian’s eyes had shut and he could gaze at him freely. His dick ached, a large, damp spot on the front of his shorts. If this was how Ian acted just from some head, he could only imagine anything more. 

Ian cumming had been the pinnacle of it all, those beautiful cries and the feel of his fingers pulling at his hair, hands pushing Barley’s head down in the desperate need for any lick of pleasure Barley could offer. The feeling of warm cum spurting onto his tongue had been unexpected, but no less sexy. Barley had swallowed before Ian had even had the chance to tell him to spit. 

“Too late,” he said with a grin, swiping his thumb along the corner of his mouth. He crawled up and lied beside Ian, kissing his temple. “And what do you mean, ‘you’re sorry?’ Do you usually pull out?”

Barley pressing a tender kiss to the dampness of Ian’s forehead was all the little mage’s mind needed to start swimming all over again. There was a bit of post-orgasm awkwardness flooding through him; he felt exposed and sticky, and for some reason the idea of his sibling seeing him in disarray like this was even  _ more  _ embarrassing.

He was always supposed to appear presentable to Barley.

It was just his way.

He offered a queasy smile just then as he shoved his pants and shoes the rest of the way off from around his ankles, laying beside his elder with only his buttonless shirt in place.

“ _ Pull out _ ?” he parroted, mind foggy and distant in his afterglow. “Y-Yeah.  _ Something _ like that . . .” 

“Well, it was super hot,” Barley slurred as he planted light kisses on Ian’s neck. “The way you set the pace, the way your tight little body writhed, and God, the noises…? I didn’t know you could make noises like that. I’d gladly go down on you whenever you want.”

“ _ Really _ ? You . . . You think it sounds . . .  _ hot _ ?” Ian blinked through his haze, a little smirk sliding across his lips. “Th- _ Thanks _ . . .” he offered with a small sigh, shuddering at the series of kisses placed down his neck. “O-Okay,  _ your _ turn?” he wondered, blameless eyes heavily lidded as he searched his brother’s gaze. “I-I know you must be—” he swallowed, eying the telltale wet spot at the front of Barley’s cargo shorts “—L-Lemme  _ help _ .”

“ _ Please _ do,” Barley begged, giving Ian’s bare hip a squeeze. “I feel like I’m gonna die, I’ve never been this horny in my life. What should I do?”

The smirk that crept across Ian’s freckled face was a little aloof; something a bit off, but unnoticeable to the naked eye.

“I got you, bro. No worries,” he smiled, tone warm and sweet as he crept down to his brother’s wet, pulsating tent. 

Taking the top button in his soft hands, Iandore made quick work of unclasping, unzipping, and pulling down his elder’s shorts; then carefully and methodically helping him out of his high-top Rough Nailer’s, and (slightly dingy) socks. Everything was carefully placed out of harm’s way, neatly folded and compartmentalized.

Pulling his shorts off at last, childlike chocolate eyes watched the pulsing hardness just beneath a final layer of boxers—neon green with a cartoon dragon print.

“Give me your hat and vest, then lift up for me,” Ian instructed, accepting (and folding) the suggested items from the stubbled adventurer—setting them next to the rest of the man’s discarded attire; golden eyes following his every move with a nervous sort of hunger.

“A-And stop _looking_ _at_ _me_ like that,” he giggled, brows furrowing. “L-Lift _up_ , I said,” he chided, pulling Barley’s boxers down—

“O- _ Oh my God _ ,” he shuddered, color both rushing-to and draining-from his face all at once. “B- _ Barley _ . . .  **_Barley_ ** ,” he repeated, rounded eyes trailing back up to meet his sibling’s. “H- _ How _ — **_What_ ** ?” he stammered, licking his lips, unable to resist taking the immense thickness of his brother’s manhood into his hand.

He stifled a groan, fingers unable to wrap completely around the shaft as he chewed the inside of his cheek in a rush of nerves and arousal. 

“ _ Piercings _ , dude?  _ Really _ ?” he smirked weakly, thumbing across the warmed mithril stud of Barley’s Wyvern’s Ladder. “ _ Gosh _ . . . Those girls don’t know what they’re passing up . . . W-Why the  _ piercings _ , though?”

Barley had gone from nervous to excited, back and forth as Ian undressed him. He hadn’t expected to get completely naked, but it was nice, being bare with Ian. Well, except for the tatters of Ian’s shirt. Ian’s hand on him made Barley shudder, and he had to make an effort not to melt back against the blankets. 

He lied there, propped up on his blankets, watching as Ian’s eyes widened at the sight of his piercings. Barley felt his ears grow hot. “Haha uhhhh… yeah, probably doesn’t make much sense, having piercings when nobody’s looking. It’s kind of a funny story. But we don’t have to- I mean, I can tell you later…”

Ian craned down a bit, brows furrowing in a mix of curiosity and concern as he gave the husky man’s precum-slicked cock head a timid lick; pondering the salty flavor before smiling at it—sweetly and genuinely. 

“I-I’d rather know  _ now _ —You taste yummy, Barley,” he purred, next pressing soft kisses into each of his brother’s gleaming piercings.

Barley sucked in a breath as he felt his little brother’s warm tongue lick the end of his cock. His mouth fell open from Ian’s comment alone. Fucking  _ hell _ . 

“O-Okay,” Barley stammered. “I was ah… with a couple guys after a concert, we smoked a little and one of them wanted to get something done. I talked a big game about how I wanted to get my dick pierced too, just kinda showing off. But next thing I know we’re piling into his car on our way to Shackle Tattoos, and…” He cleared his throat, heavily distracted by the feeling of Ian’s lips slowly kissing the metal studs. “I ah.. had to follow through. I was scared as hell though and I screamed like a bitch. Got my dick pierced, and got laughed at anyway.”

Ian couldn’t help but giggle at the older man’s story, the softness of his tongue dragging from the base of his brother’s impressive length—encircling each barbell as he went—to reach the seeping wetness at the tip once again; one more cursory lick offered to savor the newly sprouted bead of crystalline need formed there.

“ _ Well _ , I don’t think it's  _ funny _ that you were hurt,” he commented, kissing the velvety head of his brother’s engorged manhood with a sly little wink. “B- _ But _ it’s a cute story,” he murmured, licking the head a few more times before taking the entirety of the tip into his mouth; tongue swirling here and there before raising off. “Wh-Why does it taste so  _ good _ ?” he wondered, offering another lick. “D-Do you wanna take  _ me  _ to get something pierced,  _ too _ ?”

It was a wonder that the blankets hadn’t caught fire beneath Barley, with how hot he was feeling. Nothing could have prepared him for how good it felt, how blissfully sweet Ian’s tongue and lips were… how sweet his  _ attention _ was. 

“Uhm…” Barley murmured, his voice a little shaky. “I don’t think I could s-stand to watch a single inch of you injured. I guess th-that’s kinda the opposite of what you wanted..”

The pastel summoner couldn’t help but smile, placing another chaste kiss against the engorged tip before his mouth. 

“ _ Really _ ? . . .” his tone attempted to relay disbelief, but was doused in syrup; sounding smug and thoroughly pleased. “But you’d  _ protect _ me, right? I-I think if you pierced me  _ yourself _ , I could trust you,” he smirked, taking his brother into his mouth as deeply as he could—only getting past the first barbell before choking and pulling back—a string of saliva connecting full lips to Barley’s manhood. “ _ Fuck _ , that’s big, Barley.”

“S-Sorry,” Barley said, his voice strangled. He felt deeply guilty for how good it felt when Ian had gagged around him, although every inch he had taken had left Barley dizzy. Even just the way Ian looked. Something in him, some little voice, reminded Barley that this was Ian! His soft, sweet Ian, lips wet with saliva and precum, eyes watering from what he’d just tried. Barley felt a ferocious wave of possessiveness, an urge to make sure that nobody but him ever touched Ian again. He was too precious to be trusted with anyone else, and Barley wanted to protect him. He wanted him out of need as well, for Ian to be his alone to love. Just because. 

“I-It’s okay, if it’s too much,” Barley said. “You can do anything that feels fine for you. I’m already going a little crazy over this.” He smiled at Ian, enjoying the simple touches, little sucks and licks, the gentle ministrations of Ian’s mouth. 

Ian chuckled, shaking his head and sniffling softly.

“N- _ No _ . Don’t apologize. I-I  _ like _ it,” he smiled, eying the angry girth pulsing before his lips. “Tell me if I’m . . . If I’m  _ hurting _ you, okay? If my teeth catch you. I-Its just really  _ big _ ,” he smiled, parting his lips as far as he could before trying again; pushing himself marginally deeper than before, brows furrowed and eyes watering.

He gave a little choke—sliding back off and shaking his head—before giving it another try, working into a slow, silky rhythm.

Golden-brown met luminous hazel as he went, eyes squeezing shut here and there for a cough or a gag, but upon seeing the little flashes of lust-filled-worry in his sibling’s handsome face; the fragile spellcaster offered a little thumbs up.

Sliding off for air, Ian’s lungs filled and heaved as he offered his brother a watery smile. 

“I-Is it  _ okay _ ? Want me to go faster? D-Do something  _ different _ ?”

Barley nodded dumbly and then shook his head, correcting himself. “N-No it’s p-perf- it’s great. That last thing especially… please, just keep going.” He reached for Ian, affectionately brushing large fingers through his hair and rubbing his delicate ears. Barley wasn’t long for this world, not with what Ian was doing.

With a determined little nod, Iandore swallowed as much as he could of his brother’s dense length once again; urging himself deeply enough to choke a little each time, but trying to work through it.

He could tell Barley was approaching his orgasm. The telltale pulsing of his cock, and the way his mead-colored stare watched him as if he were the only thing tying him to this plane . . . There was something  _ different _ about that stare, though, when compared with the men before his brother. Something deep and mysterious—frightening at first—but more loving and more tangible than the usual conquest.

There was something . . .  _ more _ , about the way that Barley looked at him.

Pulling off for breath once more, Ian used a free hand to stroke his sibling’s hardness, offering a shy little giggle as he found himself feeling exposed and carefully studied.

“C-Can you tell me where you wanna  _ cum _ ? I-I don’t mind  _ swallowing _ , if you want. Or you could cum on my  _ face _ —”

That was what did it. Barley had been on the brink when Ian had pulled off, unable to even form words as slender fingers stroked him, and soft lips offered for him to  _ cum on Ian’s face _ . It was too much to handle. Barley made a sharp, strangled sound, his finish cutting Ian off mid-sentence. He popped like a champagne bottle, a spurt of cum hitting Ian’s mouth and chin, more landing between his collar bones. 

Barley gasped, panting and suddenly exhausted. He let himself fall backward, trying to steady his breaths. With a lazy arm he reached for Ian, glancing up at him again. “Sorry, I… didn’t mean to cut you off.”

Brows furrowing—completely bemused by the warm, viscous eruption—Ian offered a tender smile and a genuine giggle. 

“ _Damn_ _it_ ,” he paused to swipe up (and lick off) what was so generously poured onto him. “Don’t _waste_ it,” he chided, brows furrowed as he made short work of licking the opalescent fluid from his fingers, smiling as he pondered the flavor. “Salt— _Savory_? Makes sense,” he decided, crawling back up to lay alongside his sibling in their cozy little nest. “D-Did you _have fun_?”

At this point Barley wasn’t sure if he could handle any more sexy  _ anything _ out of Ian, his body too exhausted to respond to it. Ian licking up his cum had been the final, dazzling straw. 

When Ian drew closer, Barley draped a heavy arm around him, pulling them together. He was still breathing a little hard as he kissed Ian’s forehead, smelling his surprisingly fragrant shampoo. “Yeah I had fun,” Barley said. “Although fun doesn’t really cover it.” He moved to kiss Ian’s lips, eyes warm and affectionate when he opened them. “You are seriously amazing. Thank you for that.”

Ian smiled, flushing a bit more deeply at the kiss he’d been given. 

“M- _ Me _ ? What about  **_you_ ** ?  _ You _ were amazing,  _ too _ ,” he offered, brows furrowing as he leaned in to steal another kiss from his brother’s bristled mouth. “I-I’m hoping maybe we could . . . Do this  _ again _ ? S-Soon,” he mused, doe-eyes eyes unable to tear themselves away from the warm honey of Barley’s stare. 

“Yes, please and thank you,” Barley said playfully, nuzzling Ian’s neck and giving his skinny body a squeeze. He then reached down and pulled one of the blankets over them, making sure Ian was bundled up around the shoulders. “Hey, I do need to apologize though. I promised you’d need a nap when I was done, but you still look pretty awake.”

Rolling his eyes, Ian snuggled a bit closer to his elder, holding the man’s head against the junction of his neck. 

“You’ll have _time_ , dude,” he smiled, pressing a soft kiss into the brute’s flourished ear. “I-I’m not _wide awake_ , I’m just . . .” a worried expression marred his face for a moment. “I-I don’t want to _miss_ _out_ . . . on this. The way I feel _right_ _now_ ,” he smiled, a little sweet and a little somber. “If I woke up a-and this was all a _dream_ , I-I’d . . . I can just watch you sleep,” he smiled, pressing another kiss into his brother’s stubbled cheek.

Barley’s eyes opened again and he shifted to look Ian in the eye. “Hey, um… you know, I get the feeling that you’re kinda nervous, like you’re expecting this to end. I mean, I definitely want to do this again soon. Whenever you want, as much as you want. And you’re not gonna miss out if you sleep, because I vow to you that I am  _ not _ going to wake up feeling guilty and regretful. I’m too crazy about you! And finally, you’re definitely not dreaming. See?” He reached for Ian’s little butt cheek and gave him a pinch.

The petite mage squeaked at the quester’s invading pinch, pouting in a show of mock offense before placing another chaste kiss upon his elder’s lips.

“I-I guess . . . I guess you’re right. I guess I just . . .” he trailed off, chocolate gaze sifting through the little swirls of azure hair upon his brother’s chest. “It’s hard to explain, I guess,” he shrugged, eyes tender as he returned them to meet Barley’s.

And then, as if it were second nature to him; he curled into the warmth of the bigger man’s stout body, snuggling against the semi-solidity of his form. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” he smiled, nuzzling against his brother’s bristled jaw (and freshly shaven neck), breathing deeply to calm himself into a state of drowsiness. 

By then Barley was beginning to nod off, and he murmured in agreement over whatever Ian was saying. Under the blanket they napped, in silence save for the patter of freshly sprouted rain overhead.

To be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FanFicLover69, LightningCloud9000, a_seaof_wonders, HotBarley, MissLightfoot23, Creativecookiecrumb, LmaoILoveOnward123, and n0r0i, we want to thank you so very much for sharing your kind thoughts on our last chapter!

That evening, Ian and Barley didn’t get another chance to be alone. Laurel and Colt were both home, so the brothers spent dinner exchanging glances over the dining table. And when it was time to go to bed, Colt stayed up to watch TV in the living room, where he fell asleep on the couch. Barley knew from experience that it was impossible to slip out to the bathroom without waking him, much less invite Ian down for a midnight cuddle. 

Laying in the softness of his own bed, Ian’s eyes were beginning to glaze with boredom; lighting here and there on the pages of his philosophy book . . . 

And then an idea occurred, nimble fingers reaching to pluck his phone from his bedside table.

Valentine-eyes twinkled with mischief as he composed a message to his brother—the man likely to be pouring over the pages of his notebooks—dreaming up his next campaign.

_ ‘Hey’ _ , he tried, wincing at his own plainness before erasing the message and starting anew;  _ ‘Whatcha doing?’ _ he offered next—pondering a heart emoji, but deciding against it.

**_Ian:_ ** _ Whatcha doing down there? _

He awaited his response, chuckling to himself as he imagined the quester scrambling to answer him back, but quickly shook the thought from his head.

Barley wasn’t  _ desperate _ . It was selfish to expect him to respond tonight _ at all _ . He was likely already asleep, Ian decided. 

Barley had been spending the last hour flipping through pages of his book, scribbling notes down for his upcoming campaign. But after a while his mind had begun to drift. He found his page adorned with Ian’s name written in fancy lettering, surrounded by curling flourishes. From there he’d doodled a very poor picture of Ian. 

When his phone buzzed, he jumped out of his skin, the pen flying from his hand and rolling under the desk. He checked his texts and found the simple message from Ian. A smile spread across his face and he texted him back.

**_Barley_ ** _ : Not u, sadly. :( _

Ian’s smile broadened upon receiving a reply, heart fluttering in his chest as he stifled a giggle; quickly discarding his philosophy book in favor of conversation, for the time being.

He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, doe-eyes narrowing as a little smirk graced the fullness of his lips.

**_Ian:_ ** _ You know the bathroom you use is upstairs… right? Whatcha wearing? Same thing? _

He squeezed back a snicker at the juvenile tone of his last two inquiries, cringing as he found they’d already been read.

He hoped that in them, Barley would find—if not an immature sexiness—then at  _ least  _ humor and irony.

Barley was smiling like an idiot as he texted back. 

**_Barley_ ** _ : Took off my vest, so practically naked. ;) ;) U asking me to come visit? _

Ian rolled the gleam from his eyes, allowing a laugh to escape him as he shook his head; soft fingers padding along illuminated glass once again.

**_Ian:_ ** _ Hmmm… Do you wanna come visit? Or do you just want another kiss? _

He pressed send, unable to keep himself from nervously adjusting a familiar black (laughably oversized) t-shirt he’d snatched from atop the dryer earlier.

Did he look  _ presentable  _ enough for a visit?

He glanced around the room, finding nothing in particular that would help him freshen-up any further, and decided that if Barley was going to visit, he’d have to accept him as he was.

Barley leaned back on his desk chair, swiping out a response. 

**_Barley_ ** _ : Its up to u, ur the one inviting me. Im coming up either way tho, so see u soon! xoxo _

Standing up, Barley kicked off his shoes so he’d make less noise. But even moving on tiptoes, he’d barely reached the stairs before Colt snuffled awake, sitting up and rubbing his face. “Whaa, what’s goin’ on?”

“You passed out,” Barley said quietly. “Might as well go to sleep in a real bedroom, now that you’re up.”

Colt nodded, rubbing his eyes and getting up from the couch. “Mrmph, yeah good idea. Better for my back.” 

The two of them went upstairs, Barley stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door. He listened until the centaur had made it into the bedroom where Laurel was sleeping. As soon as he heard the door shut he was out of the bathroom, tapping on Ian’s door across the hall.

Stifling a yip at the wrapping at his door, the enchanter took a stand, smoothing out his elder’s shirt upon his undersized body. Padding over to the entrance, he pulled it open to reveal his brother’s ruggedly handsome face, wearing an unreadable expression. He ushered the gentle brute inside, eying him nervously as he closed them in.

“I-I heard  _ Colt _ come up . . .” Ian whispered, suddenly timid as he reached out to touch his sibling’s bracelet-clad arm. “What were you doing? B- _ Before _ ? Quests of Yore stuff?”

Barley stepped inside, moving to sit on the bed. “Yeah, just campaign things,” he said, shoving aside some pillows so he could get comfortable. 

It was then that he looked at Ian, really looked at him, and saw what he was wearing. Ian had on one of Barley’s old t-shirts, nothing but the long stretches of his bare legs showing beneath it. Barley’s gaze moved from the smooth thighs which disappeared beneath the hem of the shirt, up to Ian’s delicate features. The corner of Barley’s mouth turned up as he smiled, dazedly. “Ian,” he said softly. “You look… so cute.”

Ian’s eyes glistened hopefully at his brother’s praise. 

At least, at first. 

Hopefulness quickly dissolved into shyness and he crossed his wiry arms; as if the stout man hadn’t just taken him into his mouth hours prior.

“S- _ Stop _ ,” he smiled, shrinking into himself as he crossed the room to join his brother’s reclining form—climbing to straddle his hips with an air of uncertainty.

A chocolate gaze peered into caramel lovingly; the dull amber glow of Ian’s desk-lamp illuminating halos within Barley’s eyes that lit them like golden embers. 

“Y-You’re not playing fair . . . You look so good in this light.”

Barley felt his heart pound harder, having Ian on top of him, those smooth, flawless thighs resting on his middle. But more so was that affectionate gaze, Ian looking at him in a way that perhaps Barley had always craved. “I… I have no idea what you mean about me ‘not playing fair’,” he murmured. “If anything,  _ you _ invited me up, and  _ you’re _ the one not wearing pants. I’d say you’re the one who’s straight up cheating.” 

He ran his hands up Ian’s legs, the shirt catching on his fingers and lifting as he reached his brother’s narrow hips. He had on a colorful pair of briefs, concealing Ian’s cute package that Barley was now anxious to see again. Just thinking of it reminded him of the noises Ian made when he’d taken him in his mouth. It had been exquisite, being able to turn his little brother into a whimpering, trembling mess.

Ian’s face couldn’t help but flood with heat at his elder’s words, a sheepish grin and a shake of his head offered as he rested delicate hands atop Barley’s dense ones.

“I-I just wanted you to  _ touch _ me . . . At least one more time before bed,” he whispered, breath shuddering at the toughened fingers on his bony hips. “A-And you’re doing that  _ now _ , so . . .” he shrugged, flushed countenance attempting to conjure a playful smile and bedroom eyes; but only managing to appear as a child playing pretend.

Barley’s unbridled visible adoration was unnerving in its way, and served to crumble the foundations of the pastel mage’s sensuous façade. 

“Are you . . .  _ tired _ ?”

“Not anymore,” Barley said with a chuckle. He gently pulled his hands away, and then licked his thumbs. “Bear with me,” he said. “I’m going on a self-indulgent exploration.” Once more, Barley slid his hands beneath Ian’s—rather, his own shirt on Ian—tracing the lines of his body until he’d found the pair of soft spots on his chest. Barley lightly brushed them with his wet thumbs, cooling them and teasing until they’d formed into little peaks. 

A single soft hand flew to silence parted lips; Iandore scarcely holding back an audible hitch in his breath at Barley’s thumbs stimulating his nipples.

His body tensed at the sensation at first, but before he knew it, he was melting into his brother’s roughened caress. Ian gnawed his lower lip, a stifled whine escaping him; but the noise he emitted caused him to glance over his shoulder. 

His hands then reached to tighten around Barley’s far-larger ones, a little shake of his head offered more as a plea than an order.

“ _ Barley _ ,” he whispered, shaking his head again. “I-I might wake up  _ mom _ ,” he continued, worrying his lip as baby-doll eyes searched for an answer in his elder’s golden stare. 

"No you won't," Barley said with a playful grin. "Because you're going to be very careful to keep it in. Can you do that for me?" His teasing fingers gave Ian's nipples a light pinch. 

Quivering fingers tightened around the solid bulk of the Quest Master’s grip, Ian’s back unable to resist arching into the pressure against his hardened nubs. Doe-eyes fluttered closed as a strained, muted whimper escaped him. He wasn’t sure how to respond to Barley’s request; breath quickening as he attempted to form the words. 

“I-I can  _ try _ ,” he whispered, opening his heavy eyes to offer a meek smile. “P-Please be  _ gentle _ ?”

“I can try,” Barley teased, although he was amused that Ian would even have to ask. With a swift motion he grabbed Ian around the waist and pulled him down, rolling them over. They had to shift to avoid falling off the bed, which was smaller than Barley’s. Ian lied on his back with Barley looming over him, before he leaned in to kiss him. When he pulled back he murmured, “God, your lips are soft.” 

It took another kiss for Barley to be satisfied before he shifted back and pushed the loose t-shirt up to Ian’s underarms. He looked absolutely  _ yummy _ , eyes wide and chest rising and falling, nipples pert and colorful briefs hugging his hips. Barley slid onto his stomach so that he could nuzzle Ian through his underwear. “Can you lift your hips a bit?”

Ian clung to the breadth of his protector during their transition into a horizontal position, flushing at his sibling’s compliments and advances before nodding his approval; raising his hips to allow the bigger man to free him from the rosy confines of his briefs.

“I-If you do _too_ _much_ . . .” he whispered, trailing off as his eyes filled to the brim with youthful uncertainty. 

He watched Barley sheepishly, golden-brown eyes gleaming with wonder as they peered down at the boisterous giant; brows furrowed in warning. 

“W-We  _ can’t get caught  _ . . .”

“I… uh... know…” Barley trailed off, distracted by the pretty prick standing up in front of him. He shifted, draping Ian's legs over his shoulders. He released a warm breath on it before touching it with just his fingertips. Tilting his head, Barley breathed in the scent of warm, clean skin, sliding his nose and lips against it the way one might take in the scent of a cigar. He paused for a moment, wondering if Ian might find that strange, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He wanted to melt this boy right through the mattress and he was going to enjoy himself in the process. 

Barley licked his lips and planted slow, wet kisses along the twilight-colored length. And then he sunk his lips around it, a languid pace upward and down. 

Face heating up at the bigger man’s indulgence of his freshly-showered scent, Ian squirmed in embarrassment; shifting in his place as he was savored for a few moments.

But that embarrassment quickly gave way to a muted gasp; blameless eyes drinking in sight of the entirety of his length being devoured by his brother’s greedy mouth. Soft hands immediately flew to grasp at Barley’s flourished ears—not intending to tug or to hurt—but unsure of where to cling-to first.

“B- _ Barley _ ,” his whisper trailed off, hands moving to the stocky quester’s meaty forearms instead, “I d-don’t know a-about this.”

He was so unaccustomed to it; the experience of being pleasured. 

He felt  _ unworthy _ . 

He wasn’t all that special. 

He was easily overlooked. 

He was  _ just a boy _ . 

He was  _ just _ Iandore.

It was always his job to pleasure  _ others _ ; keeping out of their way afterward. No ‘ _ hello’ _ s in the hallway, no eye contact at lunch, no public conversation after school.

_ Those were the rules _ .

Why didn’t Barley seem to understand?

“I-It feels _really_ _good_ , Barley . . .” he breathed, shuddering as he caught the luminous honey of his elder’s gaze. “C-Can you _slow_ _down_? I-I dunno if I can . . . take this for long. I _-I’m sorry_.”

Barley slowed and carefully pulled off, looking up at Ian. He looked  _ so _ timid. Barley had seen him this way, of course, but he’d always seemed a little better around him than others. But here he was, unsure about being touched? Barley wondered how much he didn’t know about Ian.

But now wasn’t the time for so many thoughts. He smiled at Ian gently. “Sure can,” he murmured. He didn’t want Ian to finish too soon either. 

It was then that an idea came to him, something he’d seen while browsing online in the dead of night. He reached for Ian’s legs, pushing his knees up farther. He trailed kisses down the curve of Ian’s rear, and then used his thumbs to spread him. Every intimate inch of Ian was smooth and inviting, and carried a clean, soapy scent. Barley pressed forward, giving his brother’s hole a curious lick. 

“ _ Barley _ ?!” Ian whispered, eyes rounding in curiosity as his knees were pushed up to hover above his narrow shoulders. 

Axinite searched for amber, but the Quest Master’s head was dipping behind the curve of his rear, placing soft kisses that sent shivers through his lithe form—

“B- **_Barley_ ** !” Ian hissed, attempting a raise to scold his brother (as quietly as possible), but found himself held firmly in place.

Whatever this sensation was, Iandore wasn’t sure how to metabolize it.

His brother’s tongue—usually spouting forsaken knowledges of bygone days—was now lapping against his entrance.

“Y-You  _ can’t _ !”

Ian’s hole tightened in response to the tongue teasing it, and Barley felt a rush of arousal in him. He glanced up at Ian’s words, feeling instantly disappointed. “Huh? Why not?”

Legs and fingers trembling as they found themselves unsure of where to light, the little mage felt a wave of relief as Barley’s eyes met his own once more. Suddenly, his opposition seemed so . . .  _ Silly _ . He felt unnerved and estranged from the anxiety cascading through him; but Barley’s face—lightly kissed by disappointment—immediately calmed him.

“I-I  _ dunno _ ,” he answered simply, head swimming beneath the golden tide of his elder’s gaze. “That’s—It's  _ dirty, _ Barley . . .”

“Not really,” Barley said casually. “You’re so sexy, I’m honestly loving it. But… I want you to feel good, not uncomfortable. Do you really want me to stop?”

“ _ Sexy _ ,” Ian scoffed under his breath, complexion exerted to muster a deeper flush than was already spread across it. 

But Barley’s eyes were so . . . honest.

_ ‘One thing that’s true,’ _ his elder had asked of him; the word’s echoed through his mind in that moment as he swallowed nervously, nodding his head. 

“It  _ does  _ feel good. I-I just . . . I’ve never  _ done  _ it. N-Not like  _ this _ , at least.”

His eyes softened then, suddenly feeling ashamed of his admittance. 

“I-I-I don’t want you to stop . . .  _ Just _ —I’m okay, keep going.”

Smiling softly, Barley leaned to the side, rubbing his cheek against Ian’s thigh. He hadn’t really thought about whether or not Ian had done this before. But knowing that he hadn’t made Barley even more determined to make it good for him. He gave Ian’s leg a kiss and bent down once more.

Again, Barley slid his tongue against Ian’s entrance and then pushed inside, feeling the ring of muscle spread as he penetrated him. His own cock stirred, and Barley had to reach beneath himself to palm his erection. The idea of this alone was driving him crazy, Ian spreading his legs for Barley to go down on him, to feel the inside of him with his own mouth. He wrapped his hand around his own dick as he pushed his tongue deeper, stroking himself as he withdrew and pressed in again.

Iandore’s entire body was on fire.

He tried to keep his lanky legs steady; tucking them up to his chest to allow his brother’s greedy mouth access.

But his  _ voice _ was another issue entirely.

He chewed his bottom lip at first; the sensation of wet heat swirling along the rim of his innermost intimacies rendering his breathing shallow and disorganized. But when Barley’s tongue had delved _inside_ ; pushing _into_ him and _opening_ _him_ _up_? He whimpered a little more loudly than he should have.

He reached up to clasp at his mouth, but the strangled little noises wouldn’t cease. 

At least, not at first. 

But he soon managed a way to hush his whimpers into gasps.

The mere  _ sight _ of his protector’s gaze occasionally rising to keep his noise in-check only sent him deeper into his pleasure-laced frenzy. But Barley’s crooked, cheeky smirk here and there when he  _ couldn’t _ control the noise, was his breaking point.

“ _ I-I-I _ ,” he stammered, hands grasping his face in shame as his body threatened to overheat, “I-It feels  _ good _ , but it's . . .”

He couldn’t find the words.

There really  _ weren’t _ any words to describe the pleasure of his brother’s salacious tongue tasting his insides; pushing his tight pucker apart and exploring the warmth within.

“I-I’m  _ confused _ ,” he gasped, cock twitching as he found himself pressing willingly into the invading muscle. “I- _ Its so good _ , Barley.”

Barley had paused when his brother confessed to being confused. Did that mean he wanted to stop? But a moment later he was voicing his pleasure again. Barley kissed his thigh once more before moving back down, plunging his thick tongue into Ian. 

Fingers scrambled to shield his vision in a flurry of shame and pleasure at the warm onset of wet penetration, and Ian chewed back another series of whimpers until they settled into gasps. But far sooner than he’d expected, a wide, familiar pressure began building in his lower abdomen and tightened scrotum.

“B- _Barley_ , I’m gonna— _I’m_ _gonna_ _cum_ soon,” Ian strained, unable to steady his voice as he rolled his hips into the elder Lightfoot’s intrusion. 

As he went down on Ian, Barley was still stroking himself, and he too was getting close. There was something so sexy about the idea of coming together, and Barley let go of himself and clumsily reached upward. He snagged Ian’s wrist and pulled it down until Ian’s hand was over his own leaking prick. He knew Ian would figure out what he wanted. And then Barley stroked himself harder as he tongue-fucked his brother. He knew he didn’t have more than a minute left in him.

Ian’s hazy mind flooded with inquiries as one of his hands was coaxed from his eyes and placed upon the pulsating hardness of his erection; but the additional stimulation this offered was a welcome change.

A change he hadn’t even  _ considered _ .

Carefully—and with a trembling grip—he stroked himself in time with his sibling’s oral invasion. The feeling of being filled by his brother’s clever tongue was overwhelming enough, but the stroking of his cock only served to hasten the inevitable.

He failed to choke back a whine as his orgasm hit him; rope after rope of luminous pearls flung onto the hairless pastel plain of his flat stomach. The hand on his eyes scrubbed at his freckled face for a moment; his pulsating entrance squeezing down around the intrusion of Barley’s tongue . . .

And then it was over; his breathing staggered and ragged. The little magician’s limber body went limp as his legs shivered from their place above his chest.

Feeling his brother’s tongue exit him, Ian found his feet guided to rest against the softness of his bed once again; the bulky quester moving out from between his legs at last.

Barley was trembling as well as he dragged himself upward, collapsing beside Ian with an arm over this narrow chest. He felt something wet, and found that he’d smeared Ian’s cum around. But he was too exhausted to care. He took in a deep breath and blew it out between his lips. 

Afterglow-glazed doe-eyes searched for an audience with simmering hazel as Barley threw his spent body next to Iandore’s; a sleepy smile gracing the junior Lightfoot’s cherubic features as he observed the rise-and-fall of his elder’s chest.

“L-Lemme take care of  _ you _ now,” Ian murmured, a few more languid breaths drawn as he moved to press the fullness of his lips into the bristle of his sibling’s cheek.

Barley grinned, although he didn’t open his eyes quite yet. “Ah, I kinda took care of myself,” he admitted. “You were just too sexy.” 

Sitting up, Barley forced himself to rise to his feet and head for the door. “Be right back,” he said quietly, holding his undone shorts closed. A few minutes later he returned and climbed into bed again, having brought a warm, damp cloth for Ian. He handed it to him and kissed his cheek.

Barley’s absence allowed the willowy enchanter to sift through his thoughts for a moment; a grimace tugging at his lips as he eyed the telltale pool of semen on his comforter. 

“What a  _ waste _ ,” he whispered, shaking his head as the tattooed adventurer returned to bed with a freshly-scented kiss.

Ian couldn’t help but grin against the lips on his cheek, pondering his brother’s use of mouthwash with a raised brow. 

“W-Wow, _minty_ _fresh_? Just for _me_? _Thanks_ , man,” the spellcaster teased, accepting the warm cloth to set about cleaning himself (and his blanket) up. 

He tossed the (thoroughly used) cloth towards the door with a careless flick of his delicate wrist.

“ _ Barley _ , that was . . . That was  _ amazing _ ,” Ian breathed, letting himself decompress against the plushness beneath him. “I-I . . . Why— _ Where _ did you learn to  _ do _ that?”

Barley’s smitten gaze had followed Ian’s hand as he slid the warm rag over his body, cleaning up the mess. He blinked when Ian began to speak, smiling up until the end. Cringing, he said, “Well, ah… I may have seen it in an adult entertainment video online…”

Ian’s rounded eyes lidded in disbelief as he gave his brother  _ ‘the look’ _ ; too spent to cross his wiry arms, but venturing to exude a similar aura with his expression alone.

“An _ ‘adult entertainment video’ _ , Barley?” he smirked, shaking his head before intensifying his look of humored disbelief. “You mean, _ ‘porn’ _ ?”

He offered a stifled giggle then, a toothy grin plastered across his delicate features as he studied the rugged beauty of his sibling’s face.

“You should kiss me.”

Barley took in Ian’s smile with the appreciation of someone watching a sunset. He moved closer, nose brushing against Ian’s before kissing him. Warm, soft lips. Barley touched his cheek and grazed along the underside of his ear. 

It was as close to heaven as Barley could ever imagine. He was here with the person he loved the most in the world, learning and appreciating each other in an entirely new way. There was a swell in his heart that suddenly made Barley nervous. Of course he’d always loved his brother. But... to be ‘in love’...? It was difficult to even allow himself to acknowledge such a feeling. Was it okay to feel that way so fast? It wasn’t as if they’d just met. It was terrifying, but it was... undeniable. 

He was falling in love with Ian.

To be continued.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thank you to these lovely readers, for their kind feedback! LightningCloud9000, LmaoILoveOnward123, a_seaof_wonders, n0r0i, MissLightfoot23, and HotBarley

Ian wasn’t exactly certain of when he’d fallen asleep; but whenever it had been, it had been before Barley. 

The sound of knocking, followed by the timid entrance of his mother had served as his wakeup-call. He darted upright at first; swept into a raging current of fear and adrenaline as he realized the scene Laurel was potentially waltzing into.

But for whatever reason, she was . . .  _ amused _ ?

“ _ Aw _ . . . My sweet boys! Were you guys having one of your little  _ sleep overs _ ? Like you  _ used to _ ? Everyone  _ okay _ ?” she beamed through her twinkling laughter from the doorway, mahogany eyes drawn to the sight of Barley stirring awake (quite a bit calmer than Ian had been).

“E-Everything’s  _ fine _ ,  _ Mom _ ! What’s  _ up _ ?” the svelte mage chirped, eyes scrambling along the alignment between he and Barley before reassessing their mother—who had now strolled into the center of the room—hands rested upon her ample hips.

Laurel cocked her head, her youngest son’s attitude offsetting her a bit. 

“Are you  _ sure _ ? You seem a little  _ spooked _ , honey. Did you have a bad dream?” she wondered, face softening as she observed her eldest attempt to sit up, practically cradling Iandore in the process as the willowy boy’s mattress was so narrow.

“I-I’m  _ fine _ ! . . .  _ Now _ , at least. Rough night. Barley helped,” came a short burst of slightly sheepish answers from Ian; his mother looking to  _ Barley _ for the truth.

Barley, who had been momentarily distracted by the wizard’s scarcely clothed body, quickly whirled around to answer his mother. “Y-Yeah, Mom! We were up late talking, and I was too lazy to leave.”

With this, Laurel’s smile returned in-full—closing the space between her open arms and her sons as best she could from the series of awkward angles that made them—placing a kiss into Barley’s bedhead before pulling away. 

“Well, _alright_ . . . _Hey_ , so I’m spending the afternoon with _Colt’s_ _family_ ,” she nearly grimaced, “I got a little behind this morning, so I don’t have breakfast ready downstairs like I’d planned, but would you like us to bring you two anything _back_?”

Ian felt the jostle of his bed moving at Barley’s eager nods; chocolate eyes gleaming at the older Lightfoot’s trademark gusto. 

“I’m fine, Mom—”

“Text me the menu and I’ll pick something, and  _ Ian’s _ gonna eat my dessert,” Barley interrupted.

He wasn’t looking at Ian directly, but he could feel the little elf’s eyes boring into the side of his head. 

Laurel nodded in agreement, chuckling softly at the exchange between her sons before crossing the room and bidding them good-bye for a day of alleged festivities with her husband’s rambunctious family.

_Good_ _people_ , the Broncos. 

Just a bit  _ pushy _ .

Following Laurel’s exit, Ian’s confection-colored gaze trailed back to his elder; a brief silence settling upon him as he drank in the elder’s disheveled appearance with a calm smile—until it hit him.

“ _ Oh _ !  _ Restroom _ !” he squeaked; nose, cheeks and ears rouging over as he scrambled off the bed and onto his feet, leaving his brother with his thoughts (and potential hunger) before returning a few moments later.

“S- _ Sorry _ ,” he murmured, slinking back to Barley’s side; cherubic curls neatly brushed, skin smelling slightly sweeter, and breath aptly freshened as he pressed his full pout into the bristles of his sibling’s cheek. 

“W-Want me to make you breakfast?”

Barley watched the scene with astonishment, as Ian hurried to fix himself up before returning. Something about it didn’t sit right with him, and a mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes. 

“Yeah, breakfast sounds great,” he said, taking Ian’s hands. “But first…” In a quick motion he grabbed Ian around the waist, playfully tossing him onto the bed. He kissed him dramatically while ruffling Ian’s perfect hair. It was once again like the bedhead he’d woken up with, and Barley grinned down at him with pleasure. “That’s better.”

“ **_Hey_ ** !” Ian’s brows pinched in concern, slender hands immediately darting to rake through his hair in an attempt to salvage his work. “Why would you  _ do _ that?” he snapped, scrambling back into a seated position as he scowled at the neon-giant; eyes relaying a sort of frailty that didn’t quite match the tone of his voice or expression.

Barley felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the look on Ian’s face. But he still didn’t feel regretful. He gently said, “Look, I saw what just happened there, Iandore. You darting off to ‘make yourself presentable’. And hey, mouthwash is great! I should probably go do that myself. But I really hate the idea that I’m not allowed to look at you before you’re ‘fixed up’.”

Ian visibly bristled at the older man’s admittance, but soon softened into something indecipherable. 

“Wh-Why would you want to see me . . . i-if I didn’t _look_ _good_?” he wondered aloud, brows furrowing as his gaze absentmindedly trailed to the fly of Barley’s cargo shorts . . . 

Realization washed over him as to where his eyes had landed, and he snapped them back up to meet with his brother’s; a fresh wave of heat creeping across his face.

Barley’s mouth fell open at Ian’s question. “Why would I want to see you- are you serious?” He smiled. “Because I love your company? Because I want to hang out with you? Look Ian, I know you have a routine. I get that you’re probably more comfortable after.. Doing the things to your hair and stuff… and I think you look amazing the way you do all of that. I’m just saying…” he paused, wanting to choose his words in just the right way. “I just want you to feel comfortable both ways. Bedhead Ian and ready-for-the-day Ian.”

The words drizzled into Ian’s flourished ears like warm nectar; axinute eyes softening as he labored to metabolize what Barley was striving to communicate . . . And somehow, against all odds, it was beginning to click. 

It wasn’t a  _ complete _ picture; but the silhouette was magnificent.

“ _ Gotcha _ ,” he mumbled, brows pinched as he pondered; offering a timid smile soon-after. “I-I love your company  _ too _ , Barley.”

A moment of silence that lingered between them, relieved only by the smaller man taking a stand and closing their distance. A brief kiss was placed upon his brother’s barbed lips, and Ian was latching their hands together; guiding the Quest Master along behind him.

Upon descending the stairs and padding through the living area, the Lightfoot brothers found themselves entirely alone in their home (save for Blazey winding between their legs for a moment).

“ _ Okay _ , so . . . W-What do you want me to make you?” Ian asked, releasing Barley’s toughened hand as he crossed into the kitchen in favor of preparing their morning coffee.

“Mmmm…” Barley murmured as he leaned against the counter beside Ian. “Can waffles happen?”

The sunkissed spellcaster hummed a bit; recently mussed curls teetering this way and that as he shrugged. 

“ _ Perhaps _ ,” he mused, the faintest smile sliding across his lips as he started the coffee pot before looking to Barley. “D-Do you think you  _ deserve _ waffles?” he smirked, cheeks heating up at his own attempted tease.

He chewed his lower lip in frustration. 

He’d wanted to come off as sly, but the rosiness of his cheeks and the stammer in his voice had all but ruined it.

Barley’s expression broke out into an amused grin. He shifted just a few inches closer, then lifted his gaze to examine the ceiling. “Well,” he said solemnly, “I did mess up your hair this morning.” And then he leaned in and murmured, “But I did make you cum last night.”

Ian’s heart raced in his chest, apexed ears perking at his elder’s (entirely valid) points, and he found himself tensing away out of sheer reflex. 

“T- _ True _ . . . B- _ But _ , I uh . . .” he trailed off; clearing his throat gently and adjusting his posture so as to appear more relaxed. “ _ Fine _ . O- _ Okay _ . Can you grab me the big mixing bowl, then?” he sighed, brows quirked and doe-eyes falling to his sibling’s lips for a moment. 

He crossed his wiry arms for effect—hoping to appear firm—but instead appearing bashful.

Beaming, Barley bounded off to the cabinet and grabbed the large mixing bowl, childish delight gracing his features as he returned. “Want me to make blueberry topping?” he offered. It was one of the few breakfast things that Barley was especially good at.

The expression of zest on his brother’s rugged features caused Ian’s stomach to flutter, rounded eyes rolling here and there as his head teetered. 

“O- _Oh_ . . . You wanna _help_ me? I-I thought I could just . . . make you breakfast to _thank_ _you_?” he wondered, not usually one to share kitchen space with anyone while preparing a meal . . .

But he’d be damned if Barley wasn’t convincing; standing there with his mussed hair—stubble a bit overgrown—and clothes wrinkled irreparably by way of sleep. 

“It can still be a ‘thank you’ if you need it to be! I promise I’ll only help with the one thing, how about that?”

Chewing the lushness of his lips at Barley’s sunny exuberance, Iandore rolled his valentine eyes as he tsked, accepting the bowl from his brother and setting it on the counter behind him. 

“ _ You’re so unfair _ ,” he muttered under his sweetened breath, “ _ Stop being cute _ .”

The lithe magician trotted here and there about the kitchen, retrieving the ingredients and tools required to prepare their breakfast and arranging them beside the mixing bowl his sibling had presented him. 

“Do you want, like,  _ a lot _ ? What does your  _ gut _ say?”

Barley was busy assembling his own mise en place when Ian asked. Barley didn’t even have to pause what he was doing to answer that question. “My gut says, ‘the more the merrier’.”

He continued with the blueberry topping, fetching blueberries out of the freezer and simmering them with sugar, lemon juice and a few other ingredients. It wasn’t the first time he and Ian had worked together in the kitchen, but it was certainly his favorite so far. 

They had a moment of peace when the blueberries were simmering and the waffle was in the iron, and both of them were waiting. Barley took the moment to admire his brother, who was standing there with one hand on his hip, still only clad in his t-shirt. Barley snuck closer, wrapping his arms around Ian from behind. He kissed his neck, just beneath his ear. 

The sensation of his brother’s bristled lips against the usually untouched junction between his neck and ear sent shivers through Ian, and he found himself unable to keep from craning into them. 

“H- _Hey_ . . . If you _distract_ me, the waffles are gonna _burn_ ,” he mewled, resting soft hands against the dense arms locked across his slender torso. “A-And if you wind me up, you’re gonna have to fuck me right here in the kitchen, and go hungry. Y- _Your_ _choice_.”

Barley paused for a long moment, and imagined himself hastily pulling the waffle iron plug from the wall, and shoving the eggs and flour out of the way. He imagined lifting Ian up and setting him on the counter, and slowly sliding his hands up his smooth thighs. As far as he knew, there was nothing but Ian under that long t-shirt.

But Barley behaved. He wanted waffles for sure, and he didn’t want to ruin the nice breakfast Ian wanted to make for him. He gave him a less sensual kiss on the cheek and let go. With a sigh, Barley said, “Alright, I’ll be good. But only because I’m hungry.”

Ian smiled into the kiss against his cheek, patting Barley’s forearms in a show of affection, doubling as a signal to release him; turning to the iron and removing the first waffle. He plopped it onto one of the two plates he’d readied, buttering it quickly before moving on to pouring in the next ladle-full of batter. 

“Do you want them  _ one-at-a-time _ ? Or you wanna wait for a stack? I dunno how hungry you are . . .”

Barley moved back to the stove, adding more ingredients and mixing it in with the gooey blueberry concoction. “Hmm, let’s do one-at-a-time so they don’t get cold. You’re gonna have one with me, right?”

Ian’s eyes narrowed a bit in his brother’s direction as he crossed the kitchen to place the man’s plate upon the table; a single buttered waffle simmering there. 

“I-I probably couldn’t even eat an entire waffle if I  _ tried _ , Barley,” he sighed. “You  _ know _ I’m not usually big on breakfast . . . Y-Your first one is  _ done _ , by the way,” he bade, grinning as his rounded eyes caught sight of the stout quester happily working on his syrupy mixture. “Hurry up, or the  _ next  _ one’s gonna be done before you get the  _ first  _ one down,” he chided, returning to the iron to keep watch.

“Hah! You underestimate me, Sir Iandore!” Barley said jovially. He brought his small pot of blueberry topping to the table, and set it on a hot pad. He took up his silverware and cut into the waffle, slicing it into four sections and slipping one onto a second plate. After drizzling on the dark, sugary mixture, he set the plate at Ian’s spot at the table. Wordlessly he glanced over at Ian, and the waffle maker that was still busy.

Going through the motions of pulling another sizzling waffle from the iron and dressing it with butter, Iandore settled on bringing it along as he turned to observe the plate his elder readied for him. A furrow of concern pulled at his brows, but he drew a breath and remained silent as he took his place next to Barley, placing the freshly buttered confection between them.

“How  _ is _ it? O-Oh you haven’t  _ started _ yet?” he teased, a smile gracing his sun-flecked features despite the pinch in his brow. 

He then eyed his own portion skeptically, a strange sensation flooding him as he felt his hands clench against his narrow thighs—

“G-Give me a bite of  _ yours _ first, then,” he bossed, a pinch of sugar on his voice as he craned his neck and parted his lips expectantly; confection-hued gaze latching onto liquid flax as he went.

Barley blushed instantly, caught off-guard and a little confused. “S-Sure,” he murmured. He cut Ian a piece, making sure it was saturated in dark syrup, and brought the fork to Ian’s mouth. 

Full lips quickly enveloped the portion they were offered; Iandore leaning back to muse over his first bite of the day, offering a little hum of approval. 

“ _ Hm _ . . .  _ Yeah _ ! This is  _ really _ good. Y-You did a great job on the topping, Barley,” he chirped as he took a stand to fetch them both a mug of coffee — drizzling in a bit too much cream and sweetener into his own. 

Returning, he gently placed both cups between them and took another seat; leaning-in expectantly for his next bite.

A few pieces had been cut up on Barley’s plate by the time Ian returned with coffee, and Barley grinned to find that Ian wanted to be fed again. He’d feed him every bite he ever took if it meant Ian would eat. Barley fed him another bite, still smiling as he blew on his coffee and took a sip. 

After he set down his coffee, Barley reached for Iandore and picked him up, setting the smaller elf on his knee. “If I’m gonna feed you, this’ll be easier,” he said in way of an explanation. 

Finding himself relocated by a set of firm-yet-careful hands, the little wizard pouted and flushed as he mused over the idea of being babied in such a way . . . But when he’d been offered another bite in response to his sulk, he decided it was entirely tolerable. 

He chewed thoughtfully, taking a moment to savor the saccharine flavor that brought an immediate smile to his lips. 

“You should cook _more_ _often_ , Barley,” he offered, feeling a little anxious about indulging in any more. “D-Did you have anything planned for the day?”

Barley had just stuffed a quarter of a waffle in his own mouth when Ian asked his question. He mumbled something incoherent as he chewed, and then downed it with another hot sip of coffee. Once he’d cleared his throat, he said, “Well, I did have plans to go to Lance’s today, but I’m going to cancel. I’d rather us do something. If you’re free…?”

Ian rolled his eyes as a smirk crept across his features, meeting his brother’s mead-stained gaze as though it were the silliest question in the world. 

“Barley, of  _ course _ I’m free . . .  _ You’re _ the popular one . . . I-I’m kinda surprised you’re not hanging out with Lance today? You just gonna blow off your friends all weekend to hang out with me?” he wondered, accepting another bite of pancake from his brother’s fork as he smiled into the flavor.

“Yeah, it’s no biggie. Arthur cancels last minute all the time, so I’m allowed to have a turn.” He took another bite of pancake, a quarter, rather, and cut another piece for Ian. He had a feeling Ian was at the end of his rope with breakfast, so he made sure it wasn’t too big. “So what do you think of lunch in the woods? I know a pretty little spot that’d be great for a picnic.”

Ian fought-off a grimace at the principle of an entirely food-driven activity, deciding to coax it into an uncertain smile instead. 

If nothing else, he would be picnicking with Barley. 

His brother would be with him the  _ entire _ time, surrounded in scenery he trusted would be  _ beautiful _ , and they would be  _ alone _ .

_ Alone _ , and  _ together _ .

“S- _ Sounds _ nice enough,” he shrugged, struggling to find his way out of his sibling’s lap; relieved when the brash adventurer took his nonverbal cues and planted him squarely upon his feet once again. 

“I-I guess we could start getting  _ ready _ ?” he wondered, waiting until Barley polished off all traces of the remaining waffles before collecting the dishes, mugs and silverware from the table.

“I-I’m just gonna start the dishwasher. Go ahead and take a shower . . . A-And pick out something  _ nice _ to wear,” the petite conjurer bossed, tossing Barley a pointed glance as his elder exited the kitchen (with a dismissive wave in his direction). 

“I’m  _ serious _ , man.”

~*~

Time seemed to flow in a liquid blur of activities as the Lightfoot brothers readied themselves for their daylong stint into the wilderness. Iandore had insisted on filling an entire backpack full of amenities, in addition to gathering their blanket, dishware, and cliche wicker basket; leaving Barley in charge of filling the cooler with provisions for their upcoming meal . . .

Except that—much to Iandore’s surprise—Barley proposed something a touch more  _ specific _ for lunch, a bit outside the scope of their family’s casual tastes. 

_ ‘Something Mediterranean’ _ , the older Lightfoot decided, setting his Midas-hued sights on a deli he allegedly frequented for snacks on campaign nights with his comrades.

And so, there they were; standing just-inside the entrance of said deli, looking dreadfully mismatched and a touch out of place.

Barley casually plucked two shopping baskets from their position beside the automatic doors, handing one to Ian as curious golden eyes peeked here and there at the shelves in the distance.

"Alright Iandore, you pick up sandwiches and I'll get the drinks and the other stuff. I'll see you in a bit?

Ian seemed to balk at his elder’s usage of his full name; usually only reserved for when he was angry, or when he was proclaiming delusions of grandeur in his trademark knightly baritone. 

“Y- _ Yeah _ . Got it,” he smiled, setting about his freshly assigned task.

Barley wandered off down an aisle, reaching the self-serve salad section. He didn't usually go for salads, but he wanted this to be nice for Ian. He made up salads with oil cured black olives and crumbled feta, and then went an aisle over to refrigerated items, where he found clusters of grapes. He also spotted single slices of cheesecake, something Barley wasn't crazy about, but knew Ian adored. 

The aisles were stocked more generously than Ian expected as he made his way through them; sights set on a large hanging sign that promised to guide him to his assignment. Surely enough, rows upon rows of delicately placed sandwiches came into view, spread out from behind a gleaming shield of glass. The lanky spellcaster stepped up to the display, eying each little sign from their places beside distinct looking sandwich arrangements.

But Barley had been clear in his preference for Mediterranean for their afternoon together, so Iandore wasted little time requesting several of the appropriately signed arrangements from the deli staff, placing them into his arm-basket and bidding the team farewell.

He hadn’t traveled far before an aisle of prepackaged candies caught his eye, a little flutter in his heart as he quickened his pace to approach them, wondering what he might find. He was rewarded for his haste in discovering his expectations were met in-kind; two solid walls of chocolates, nougats, and every other tooth-decay inflicting treat his mother had always warned him to be wary of.

A little smile on his face as he went, slender fingers brushed against this package and the next as he pondered over which ones he should ask Barley for—

“ _ Surprise _ ,  _ surprise _ ,” came a warm, gravelly voice from behind him; the proximity to his sensitive ears nearly causing him to lose his basket in shock as he spun around to face the sable stare of a square-jawed elven man who towered above him by just a few inches. 

“If it ain’t _Iandork_ _Lightweight_ ,” the newcomer smirked, leaning in an attempt to catch the little fey’s lips with his own—instead lighting upon a freckled cheek.

“T- _ Tanner _ ?!” Ian hissed, doe-eyes darting here and there to assure they hadn’t been seen. “W-What are you  _ doing _ here?!”

The bigger man rolled his dusky gaze, scoffing at the chilly response he’d received before taking a step back and straightening his posture. 

“I could ask  _ you _ the same thing,  _ Lightweight _ . What are  _ you _ doin’  _ here _ ? You don’t even  _ eat _ ,” he snickered, reaching out to give the brittle teen a playful shove; knocking him into the shelves behind him. 

“But you’d better _start_ if you wanna stop gettin’ _pushed_ _around_ like that . . . You here with your little _bodyguards_? _Brynhildr_ and _Freydís_?” he inquired with a lilt of humor in his voice, eyes shifting here and there in mock suspicion.

Ian shook his head, gaze beginning to glaze over as he gently placed his parcel onto the ground beside him. “I-I’m just here with—”

“Some _other_ _guy_ , right? _Slut_ ,” Tanner chuckled, reaching out to ruffle the slighter teen’s cerulean curls with roughened hands, causing Ian to flinch. “ _What’s_ _wrong_? Little _Ian’s_ afraid of the _big_ _bad_ _Griffins_? Do we hurt your little _feelin’s_?” he sneered, pausing for a moment to watch for a reaction; finding his prey had already begun to close himself off.

“Oh,  _ c’mon _ , dude,” he grumbled next; a large hand reaching to wrap around the little enchanter’s bicep, yanking him forward and into a forceful embrace. 

A bristled chin rested atop cherubic curls, and for a moment, the two simply leaned against each other in silence.

“ _Hey_ , _listen_ . . . I’m gonna park towards the back of the lot at school tomorrow. I want you to meet me in my truck about fifteen minutes after we’re out,” he pulled back a bit, placing a tender kiss into the fragile teen’s fragranced hair before continuing, “You tell _anyone_ , and I’m gonna _break_ your pretty little face _so_ _badly_ , no one’s _ever_ gonna want another slob-job from you for the _rest of your life_.”

With one more tender kiss and a forceful shove, the sportsman took his leave; ambling away from Ian nonchalantly before rounding the corner out of sight.

The svelte magician trembled in his place, forcing down the newly developed lump in his throat before heaving a shuddering sigh; reaching down to handle his shopping basket before skittering off to find his elder brother in the gauntlet of aisles and shoppers.

Within a few panic-hastened moments, doe-eyes lit upon the brawny figure of his sibling; fetching an assortment of drinks from a refrigerated area at the rear of the deli.

And all at once, the familiar warmth and safety of Barley’s aura enveloped him, wiry legs slowing their rattled pace as he took a stand beside the quester. 

“ _Hey_ ,” he called, “A-Are you _almost_ _ready_?”

He forced a smile, and stilled his nerves; hoping against all odds that he could dissipate the emotions welling-up within him. 

“Yeah, just about!” Barley said, pulling out a bottle of Mt. Doom and a peach iced tea. He stuck them in the basket and turned. He paused for a moment, looking at Ian with a raised brow. “You look a little pale. Are you sure you’re up for this? Want to eat in the backyard?” While waiting for a response, he took Ian’s basket away from him.

A quick shake of his head and a clear of his throat, and Ian was finding himself falling into his well-rehearsed role; a shy smile tugging at his full lips as he ran a hand through his hair to undo the tousling inflicted by Tanner moments prior. 

“Y- _ Yeah _ ! I’m fine. I-I just— _ y’know _ , lots of different  _ smells _ in here? Making me a little q-queasy,” the magus shrugged, brows furrowing and eyes rounding to baby-doll perfection. “Just wanna get out of here, a-and get where we’re going, so I can have you to  _ myself _ .”

Barley grinned, rolling his eyes. “Aw shucks. You always know how to make me blush.” He walked on, leading them to the checkout. 

Soon they were back on the road, listening to 80’s rock on the twenty minute drive to the Lady of the Lake National Park. The main area was busy, families sitting together at park benches, and merfolk playing with their children in the water. 

Barley reached the back of the parking lot near the woods and slowed. “Alright Ian, hold onto your butt. This may be a bumpy ride.” There was a small clearing in the woods with faint tire tracks, and Barley drove straight in. The road was indeed bumpy, from protruding stones and roots. “It’s a maintenance road,” Barley explained, his voice uneven as he too was jostled around. “Lance’s dad works for Parks and Rec, and said they only use it about twice a year.” 

Ian grimaced at being jostled about, trying everything in his power to steady himself against the path of maximum resistance; but before he’d had enough to say he was particularly aggravated, the treacherous drive settled into a peaceful roll of small hills and inarguably smoother (though heavily wooded) trails.

Trails that would eventually transition into what Iandore could only presume to be Barley’s reason for today’s visit.

A dense canopy of vibrant trees, rolling brush, and coiled ferns; all of which filtered the harsh downpour of sunlight above into an ethereal glow from deep within a clearing—largely unseen at their current distance.

Chocolate eyes shifted to their wheat-toned counterparts, an expectant leer lingering for a few moments. 

“So . . . I guess now we have to  _ walk _ , right?” the frail magician sighed, sinking into his seat and crossing his arms.

In that moment, he appeared every bit the spoiled suburban child that he truly was, and he had no intentions of hiding it.

Smirking, Barley said, “Well I could always park back at the actual parking lot like I usually do, and we could walk from  _ there _ .”

Rolling his eyes with another sigh, Ian waited until they’d effectively parked before unbuckling, throwing open his door, and sliding out into the lushness of the grass and ferns below. As much as he wanted to be unhappy with their venture into the outdoors, it really was every bit as beautiful as he’d expected it to be. He made short work of fetching his backpack and the heavy basket, placing the carefully folded blanket atop it; trying his best to handle his cargo.

Barley joined him soon-after, the bigger man grappling with the cooler before getting the proper leverage on it; hazel eyes catching sight of his frail sibling struggling with the weight of his parcels before coaxing him into handing over the picnic basket and balancing it atop the cooler with a satisfied grin.

Ian’s complexion rouged for a moment—the sight of his brother so easily handling the oversized load of their provisions stirring something unforeseen in his loins . . . 

“ _ I-I had it _ ,” he mumbled bashfully, finding the backpack he shouldered  _ alone _ to be almost too much weight for him to carry.

Thus, the Lightfoot brothers headed off into the denseness of the forest before them; trekking for several (seemingly painless) minutes before Barley announced their arrival at his chosen spot. And with a carefully placed dispersal of their cargo, the Quest Master had officially staked their claim on the area.

Barley unfolded the blanket and shook it out, letting it settle onto the bed of fallen leaves. He kicked off his shoes before walking onto the blanket, pulling the cooler and basket his way to set up. Together he and Ian assembled the spread of food, sandwiches and salads, fruit and other snacks. It all looked like something from a food blog, save for the bottle of Mt. Doom. 

The Medeterranean sandwiches consisted of lamb and fire roasted red peppers, baby spinach leaves, tzatziki sauce and half a dozen other things. Barley watched Ian curiously, to see what he’d make of it. 

“Lance’s mom ordered these for us once,” Barley said in a way of an explanation, fully aware that he didn’t usually choose this kind of thing. “What do you think?”

The little mage hummed his approval, head teetering back and forth as chocolate eyes drank in the full display before them. He had to admit, it  _ was _ beautiful. He was surprised to find Barley had a knack for this sort of thing, and wondered how many little outdoor adventures the man must have taken without him—

“It looks  _ great _ , Barley . . .  _ Salad _ , though? Must be for  _ me _ ?” he smirked, offering his elder a wink before taking a seat.

“Yeah well, I’ve got to eat a vegetable at least once a year,” Barley said, as if it were an enormous chore. 

The little rush of endorphins from their venture through the woods had Ian in  _ far _ higher spirits than he’d originally been in. And as much as he  _ loathed _ exercise, he was appreciative for the distraction. He’d been able to successfully drop his act (at least somewhat), and shake off much of the negativity surging through him from nearly an hour ago.

Barley glanced upward at Ian, and found that he looked a little dazed, in a relaxed sort of way. He smirked as he reached for a grape, popping it off the vine and into his mouth. Through his chewing he said, “Whatcha thinkin’ about over there? How great I am at setting up food on a blanket?”

Ian’s trademark doe-eyes sparked with realization as he met his sibling’s treasure-toned stare, smiling with a shake of his head. 

“N- _ No _ . . . Just . . .” he considered his words, confection-hued gaze rolling here and there indecisively, “Just being  _ jealous _ .”

He let a rueful laugh escape him, brows furrowing in apology as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you—How many girls have you . . . _brought_ out here? G-Gone on these _little_ _dates_ with?”

He couldn’t help but flush, chuckling more genuinely as he realized how he must have sounded to someone who’d only very recently learned to kiss. But he couldn’t  _ help _ it. The thought of Barley with anybody else suddenly  _ ate _ at him, and he wondered if that feeling would fade with time.

After staring blankly at Ian for a moment, Barley blinked. And then he began to silently count on his fingers, with a look of concentration on his face. 

Ian’s jaw dropped in mock offense as he reached out to playfully slap the semi-firmness of his elder’s forearm. 

“ _Hey_!” he giggled, brows drawing into a little scowl as he plucked one of the grapes from their home and tossed it into his mouth a roll of his eyes. “ _That_ _many_ , huh?” he inquired, humor in his voice as he watched the quester’s brows furrow in concentration.

“So many,” Barley said with a laugh. “God, I can’t even count! Hah! But really, the truth is…” he hesitated, glancing sideways at Ian. “I gotta tell you something, Ian. Something you don’t know about me. I’m… a nerd.”

Blinking once, then twice; the willowy mage had leaned in, eyes softening as he readied himself for a piece of information he perhaps wasn’t prepared to receive—but was quickly defused by his sibling’s lackluster admittance. 

Still, the idea that many,  _ many _ other potential prospects prior to himself had been gallantly escorted into this  _ very _ clearing . . . 

“ _ Barley _ . . .  _ Y-Yeah _ . I think anyone with a working set of eyes could probably get a read on that,” Ian quipped, reaching for another grape.

“How dare you!” Barely said, feigning outrage as he grabbed another grape and chucked it at Ian. It bounced off the mage’s curly head, and they both laughed. Barley said, “But really, I’m possibly a bigger nerd than you even know. See… I may or may not… do a little LARPing.  _ Live Action Role Playing _ , if you don’t know. That’s what we used to do up here. Me and Lance and Arthur, and some of the other ladies and gents from game night.”

Ian’s expression soon slid from deadpan, into a soft grimace as unwelcome images of his elder brother (and his comrades) flinging around prop weapons, while shouting in theatrical voices filled his mind. He chuckled softly, attempting to sate the burning in his cheeks and ears as blood rushed to his sun-flecked features; secondhand embarrassment sweeping in. 

“I . . . I-I don’t even know how to  _ reply _ to that, man . . . I-Is it  _ fun _ ? Do you . . . have any  _ videos _ of you guys? D- _ Doing _ that?”

“God, I hope nobody took videos,” Barley said, staring into space. “I mean, I’m a proud nerd! Usually! But even  _ I _ know that LARPing is next level!” He chuckled, and then grew serious. “Unless... you’d…?”

The pastel mage’s expression softened into a smile, a wash of realization hitting him as he considered the possibility of his brother’s illusory world coming to life before his very eyes . . . 

“Y-You’ve never invited me,” he stated, a tiny lilt in his voice as he realized his brother’s interest in tabletop gaming was an experience he’d never opened himself up to sharing. “Take a  _ video _ next time? J-Just a little one . . . Say something to me in one of your silly voices so I know it's just for  _ me _ ?”

Barley’s face reddened and he glanced to the side. “Maybe.” 

To avoid saying anything else, he unwrapped his sandwich and took a big bite. Ian ate as well, if not slowly and just a little. They chatted about LARPing for a while before drifting onto other topics. Eventually it grew quiet between them. Barley took a sip of his drink and stared up at the canopy, beams of sunlight running through. 

A soft smile crept across the lithe spellcaster’s full lips as he observed his brother’s listlessness; a trickle of sunlight catching the Midas-tone of the older Lightfoot’s eyes, highlighting flecks of amber, honey and bronze within.

Had Barley  _ always _ been this handsome?

Iandore pondered for a moment before deciding,  _ yes _ , he’d always been the better looking of the two. It was just so easy to forget, with all that the gamer had going on. Ever a solar flare of neon chaos; but  _ beautiful _ nonetheless.

“ _ Thanks _ for buying all this, Barley . . . I-I’m glad we’re  _ doing _ this. We don’t do  _ enough _ together . . . now that we’re both busy with school.”

“Yeah,” Barley said softly. “I know nature isn’t your favorite thing, so I really appreciate you coming out here with me. And you know we’ll have a lot more free time once the summer begins.” A thought occurred to him and he said, “Hey, speaking of school, isn’t prom coming up for you? In like, a few weeks or something? Are you going?”

Ian’s ears perked, then dropped a bit at the man’s inquiry; a series of unpleasant images flashing before his mind’s-eye as he temporarily slowed his chewing.

“Y- _Yeah_ . . . In a few weeks ,” he agreed, shrugging a moment later. “I-I don’t _have_ anyone— _No_ _one_ would . . . I don’t even really _wanna_ go,” he decided, eyes softening involuntarily as he forced his food down, following up with a large swig of his peach tea. “I-I already told Sadie and Jenny I wasn’t going. A-And it _works_ _out_ because now they can go _together_ , and I don’t have to split them up,” he chirped, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

And he knew it. 

He could  _ feel  _ it. 

So he avoided meeting his elder’s gaze for good measure.

Barley quirked a brow. “Don’t those two adore you? I bet they’d be thrilled if you all went together. Do you not want to?”

Ian leered at his brother, annoyance briefly painting his delicate features as he shrugged again, downing the rest of his beverage. 

“I-It's not that _simple_ ,” he sighed, preparing himself another slice of cheesecake as he tried to soothe his nerves. “I-I don’t wanna look like a _loser_ . . . A-And if I showed up _without_ _a_ _date_ —” he shook the thought from his head, shoveling a forkful of his chilled confection into his mouth. “N-None of the guys—I-I just _don’t_ _wanna_ _go_ ,” he shrugged as he shook his head, brows furrowing as he ate his feelings.

A twinge of sadness twisted in Barley’s gut as he listened to his brother. How was Ian not surrounded by people who loved him? He certainly deserved it, in his eyes. Barley himself had gone without a date, and had a good time just hanging out with his friends. But he knew that’s not what Ian wanted to hear. Having a date did matter to some people. Barley felt helpless, not having a way to help Ian. 

He moved a few empty plates and packages back into the basket, leaving the cheesecake, which Ian was still nibbling on. With more room on the blanket, Barley was able to lie back on the red and white checkers, his hands resting on his belly. 

“Well, hey, I’ll hang out with you that night. We’ll find something fun to do. Or if you want, you can take me to prom. I’ll be your glorious Plus One.” He chuckled, hoping his joke might lift Ian’s spirits a bit.

Valentine eyes snapped to meet the bristle on Barley’s jaw; eventually finding his golden gaze a moment later. 

“Take  _ you _ ?” Ian chuckled lackadaisically, quirking a brow as he eyed his companion with mild suspicion . . .

And then his appetite caught up with him; the little wizard finding himself suddenly regretting his decision to ingest so much at once.

The empty space beside Barley becoming increasingly more appealing by the second, Ian moved to lay himself alongside his elder with a graceless flop, snaking a willowy arm out to entwine around one of his sibling’s.

From his place on his back, the canopy above them shimmered and glistened with shards of penetrating light; sunspots in his vision as he turned his head to observe his lifelong protector for a few wordless moments. 

“Would . . . Could you wear something  _ nice _ ?”

Barley turned his head to look at Ian, his expression unreadable. “Nice?” he echoed, “You mean you’d really want that? For me to take you to prom? You know I wouldn’t be able to… yanno, do anything un-brotherly. No hand-holding, no slow dances.”

Ian balked, eyes dipping to study his brother’s mouth settle into an apologetic slant. 

“Y- _ Yeah _ . . . I’d  _ love _ to have you with me. Even if we can’t  _ touch _ , I’d  _ still _ have  _ you _ .” 

With this, he met his brother’s gaze once more; drinking in the pools of gold before smiling in-genuine. 

“B-But _honestly_? . . . I’m _graduating_ soon. A-And I don’t _care_ what anyone would think of me dancing with you, o-or _holding_ _your_ _hand_.”

Barley’s heart hurt over the bittersweetness of Ian’s words. It was such a pure and gentle wish. He sat up, shifting closer to Ian and holding his hands. 

“Listen. School’s ending soon for you, but it isn’t over yet. All of your friends know I’m your brother. Some of your classmates are my friends’ younger siblings, and they know it too. I can’t protect you in school. And for sure, it’ll get back to Mom. I just... I want to give you everything you need, everything a proper prom date should be. But at the same time, we can’t blow off how dangerous that could be.” Barley’s hands tightened around Ian’s, a lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry. I hate to be a downer.”

Ian rolled his eyes, a mischievous little smirk on his lips as he teetered his head in pseudo-agreement. 

“I-I’m _not_ —I _know_ _that_ , Barley . . . I just,” he looked away, stare lingering along the glistening canopy for a moment before returning to his elder. “Some part of me . . . wants everyone to know that I’m _yours_?” he smiled into his half-inquiry, rolling his eyes before continuing, “b-but you’re _right_ . . . I-If you say no hand-holding? Then that’s _that_.”

Barley smiled at him, grateful for his understanding. “You know I feel the same way. If we weren’t… related, I’d have already texted everyone I know to boast about meeting this amazing guy. But anyway, yes, I will wear something nice. How about the suit I wore to Mom’s wedding? You picked that one out, so…?”

Iandore seemed to muse over this for a moment, remembering the aforementioned suit on his brother, and not entirely disapproving of the choice . . . 

“You don’t think . . . Maybe you’d like  _ another _ suit? L-Like an  _ alternative _ ! To . . . the one you have now? A-A-And I could help you pick it out this time, too?” he tried, a sheepish grin painting his sunkissed features. 

It wasn’t as though Barley’s suit was  _ distasteful _ in any way . . . 

“ _ Maybe _ —What if I just want you to spend your student loan money on my Prom?” he couldn’t bite back the laugh that escaped, a flush washing over him as he considered what he was proposing. 

“I-I’m sorry. Your suit is great.”

Rolling his eyes, Barley said, “I’ll get a new suit if I can  _ rent _ one. I’m not buying another suit when we could be saving for a new staff!”

A little scoff offered (followed by an elbow to the ribs), and Ian was giving the elder Lightfoot a judgmental leer. 

“A-Are you saying my Prom  _ isn’t worth _ your money?” he offered a full pout, batting his lashes before bursting into another fit of giggles; finding it too hard to be genuine at the face his brother offered in return. 

“D-Don’t  _ look _ at me like that!”

“Look at you like what?” Barley said, his grin shifting into something with a flame behind it. Playfully he leaned closer, starting to climb over Ian until his younger brother was flat on his back. Barley ducked his head down, kissing Ian on the lips. A modest kiss was chased by a deeper one, and soon Barley had his tongue pressing into Ian’s warm, wet mouth. 

Not given the time to respond before the gentle giant was hovering above him, Barley offered soda-tinged kisses in exchange for Ian’s urgent groans; tongues battling for temporary dominance as the enchanter succumbed to his elder’s guidance. 

Craning away, Ian eyed the brawny gamer’s lips for a moment before commenting: 

“Y-You know, you’re getting  _ really _ good at this.”

Barley’s heart was beginning to race, and he felt a surge of hunger and possessiveness. He could see the pink beginning to color Ian’s usually blue lips, and could feel his knees brushing against Barley’s sides. Voice low, he said, “Maybe I just really like who I’m kissing. Could be a big motivator.” 

Ducking in for another kiss, Barley’s mouth moved to Ian’s jaw and neck, sucking and biting, wanting to  _ claim _ . His fingers wound into Ian’s hair, holding on firmly to keep him still.

Blameless eyes snapped wide—a gentle hitch in Ian’s breath was the only sound offered at first—pupils constricting as a lash of pure dread forced its way through his system. 

The assertive kisses and nips at his throat, which had only moments ago served as a stimulant, were now invoking a sequence of memories that made his stomach twist and lurch. 

But the rugged fist tangled in the cerulean silk of his locks would serve as the catalyst.

Muddled thoughts raced here as he labored to grasp the line between remembrance and reality; the names of other men on the tip of his tongue as soft hands began to lightly push against the patchwork denim of his brother’s vest.

Knuckles digging into his tender scalp; Briar reminded Ian that—should he make the decision to  _ scream _ —everyone would believe him when he informed them that  _ Ian  _ had been attempting to come onto  _ him _ while he’d stepped outside for a cigar, and was receiving his well-deserved beating for it.  _ Thus _ , the screaming. And so Ian obeyed, quivering lips taking in as much of the minotaur as he could without choking, as choking would only warrant harsher treatment.

Calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks; Tanner reminded Ian that no one could hear him struggle against the bathroom wall, over the thudding soundscape of Quentin’s party. _Thus_ , if he acted in a way the sportsman deemed to be _untoward_ , no one would consider the thrashing he would receive as a signal for concern. The feeling of the bigger elf’s tongue sliding into his mouth (and later, along several other contours of his fragile body) would burn itself into the mage’s skin for weeks to come; hot showers and diligent scrubbing never quite ridding his reddened skin of the bigger man’s aftershave.

A steady hand gripping his frail bicep like a vice; Jaceon would remind Ian that—should he potentially _anger_ him—the little parks they frequented during their _‘study sessions’_ together were secluded enough that the odds of other park-goers catching a glimpse of the troll pummeling Ian into the ground before _taking_ what he wanted, were rather low. And so, the little mage usually complied. The singular reason he hadn’t pushed himself to take their intimacy to new heights on the night he’d summoned Barley’s aid, was a rush of Friday night visitors to the park that arrived in time to give him an out.

“S- _ Stop _ ,” he wheezed, pushing against the bulk and muscle of his brother’s body with hands too weak to make a difference. “C-Can we  _ stop _ ?” he croaked next, a little more loudly so as to be heard; breath quickening and hands shaking in their place against the semi-softness of Barley’s pecs.

Barley’s teeth released the flesh of Ian’s neck, worry shooting through him as he heard the tone of Ian’s voice. He let go of his hair and lifted some more of his weight off of him. “Yeah, you okay?” He looked down at Ian and was immediately alarmed when he was met with wide, glassy eyes and a trembling lip. “ _ Ian _ ?!” Barley was off of him in a second, pulling Ian up into a sitting position with him. “Oh my Go- What’s wrong?!”

The gentle pull into a seated position did much to shake the lissome youth from his anxiety-fueled daze; glassy eyes zeroing-in on the worry-riddled face of—not an aggressor—but his  _ hero _ . 

“Y- _ Yeah _ ,” he stammered, tone hollow and haunted as he attempted to settle his nerves. 

He struggled in vain for a moment or two, to force a smile. 

To access a disguise to tuck away all that he was feeling. 

But it never came. 

All he could do was peer into the anxious flaxen eyes of his brother, gnawing his lower lip to steady it as he attempted a lie. 

“J-Just got  _ overwhelmed _ —” he tried, but his tears were spilling before he could finish. 

His resolve to deceive his elder had completely crumbled. 

So there he sat; shame and uncertainty tinting his ears, cheeks and throat with a telltale flush, as he tucked his hands beneath his arms to steady the tremors in them. 

“I-I’m _so_ _sorry_ , Barley.”

“Sorry?! What do you have to be sorry for? Hey…” Barley tried rubbing Ian’s shoulders, looking at him with a tilted head. “Talk to me. It’s okay.”

Ian shuddered a sigh, a tenseness in his marquis-cut jaw as he shook his head slowly. 

“Y-You’re the first guy,” he paused for a hitch in his breath, “who’s ever  _ stopped _ .” 

He offered a watery smile, shrugging as a few stray tears fell along with his gaze. He was too ashamed to meet his brother’s stare; the guilt of what he’d just admitted flooding him with a sense of dread at the explanation he knew the elder Lightfoot would expect.

“Stopped… what?” But then it came to him as Ian’s words rattled in his brain.  _ Barley was the first guy who had ever stopped when Ian had asked _ . “You mean… touching you…” Barley immediately wanted to reject the notion. It was too painful to imagine. But Ian was sitting here, right in front of him, shaking and crying. Scared. Barley’s eyes watered. “Did they- Did somebody hurt you, Ian? More than one?!”

Ian couldn’t help but chuckle darkly at the inquiry, brows furrowing as he hugged himself a little tighter.

“ _ More than one _ ?” he parroted, attempting to screw on another smile—shrugging with a tilt of his head more out of nervous habit than genuine emotion. “Y- _ Yeah _ , man,” he croaked defeatedly, “more than  _ one _ .”

The sound of his own admittance had him clenching his fists in frustration from their place along his ribs. 

He was  _ pathetic _ . 

He was  _ weak _ . 

He was  _ fragile _ . 

He was everything the sportsmen at school had  _ accused  _ him of being. 

And now his  _ brother _ ; his guiding star, protector, and  _ hero _ — _ knew it too _ .

“L- _ Look _ , I-I don’t think we w-wanna talk about this right now.”

“No, No Ian, I need to know! What happened to you?!”

Another wave of emotions wracked the freckled mage’s tiny frame; lips pursed tightly as a choked sob escaped him. 

“N- **Nothing** . . .” he whispered, a fresh downpour of tears cascading along his heart-shaped face. “J-Just some _guys_ _at_ _school_ , **okay**? I-Its _old news_ , Barley. Its _been_ _happening_. F-For **_years_** —” a hiccup cut him off. “I-I-It just k- _kept_ getting _worse_.” 

He tucked into himself, head downturned as he gritted his teeth. 

“ _Word gets around_ , wh-when you’re too _weak_ to s- _stop_ them. When—When you c- _can’t_ _say_ _no_.”

Barley felt as if the ground was falling out from under him. He felt dizzy, blinking to try and focus. Multiple guys from school were abusing Ian… sexually abusing him… R… he couldn’t even think it. He was terrified and furious, angrier than he had ever felt in his life. 

“Ian,” he said, his voice rough and pleading. He wanted to ask permission, should have asked, but he didn’t. He grabbed Ian and pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his face against his little brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I didn’t know…”

The spiced scent and solar embrace of his brother enveloping him immediately ebbed away at the crystallization surrounding his emotions. He allowed himself to be held; a deluge of tears soaking into the brawny adventurer’s shoulder. And his tears were met in-kind . . . 

But in time, the storm would pass, and he would fall into a state of calm. Barley had taken to rocking him gently against the strength and bulk of his body, nearly soothing the spellcaster into a light sleep as timid beams of sunlight filtered in around them.

And when at last Iandore spoke; his voice was raw, but entirely honest: 

“D-Don’t blame  _ yourself _ , Barley. You couldn’t have known,” he assured, soft hands tracing shapes into the bigger man’s back. 

“I-If I would have  _ told _ you, it would have just made it  _ harder _ . . . o-on  _ me _ . I know what you would have done. A-And I just wanted to ride this out. I’m  _ so close _ to graduation. I-I just don’t wanna make  _ waves _ .”

“Make waves?!” Barley cried, pulling away to look at Ian. “Why wouldn’t you want to make waves? Tell the school! Tell Colt! Put these fucking guys in jail!” Barley pulled away even further, out of Ian’s arms and up to his feet. He paced, running fingers through his hair and clenching his fists. He stopped to look at Ian, but he wasn’t really seeing him. All he was seeing was red. “I’m gonna kill them,” he said, matter-of-factly. And then he bellowed, “I’m gonna fucking KILL them!” 

Barley grabbed the wicker picnic basket and slammed his fist down on it, busting right through. Something inside shattered noisily, and when he pulled his hand out it began to bleed.

Ian flinched at the noise, unsure of where Barley would be directing his sudden surge of emotion; bronze eyes softening moments later as he watched liquid rose begin to run down the bigger man’s fingers and forearm. 

“B- _ Barley _ ,” he sighed—more in annoyance than fear—as he leafed through the remains of the basket to retrieve a dark-colored napkin. 

Taking a stand, the little mage reached to take hold of the adventurer’s bleeding fist; first checking for shards of glass, before doing his best to apply pressure to the gashes in his knuckles. 

“Happy  _ now _ ? Y-You just  _ hurt _ yourself.  _ Calm down _ , man.”

As Ian bandaged his hand, Barley looked at him with an agonized gaze. “How can  _ you _ be calm?” he asked sadly. “Why have you kept this a secret? Why don’t you want to tell anyone and do something about it? — ”

“So I could **what** , _Barley_? . . . Spend my senior year as a fucking _pariah_? I-Iandore Lightfoot, The Whistleblower. The c- _coward_. The **_pussy_** ,” his voice almost broke on the newly formed tears brimming in his empty eyes. “The whole school _worships_ these guys, man. Y-You don’t just _squeal_ on _the_ _team_. You haven’t been out of school _that_ long. You _know_ this . . . My life would have been _Hell_. No _friends_ , no _parties_ , **_nothing_** . . . B-But _now_? _Now_ its _almost_ **_over_**. A-A-And I didn’t _live_ through this **shit** for _you_ to _fuck this up_ for me after I’ve come **_this_** _far_.”

Barley listened, teeth gritted. “I get it,” he said begrudgingly. “But I don’t like it, and that can’t just be the end of it! Okay fine, you’re afraid to look like a snitch. But if you’re not going to call them out publicly, let  _ me _ handle it.” He leaned just a little closer, locking eyes with Ian. “I’ll handle these guys, Ian. I will make sure they don’t so much as look at you.” 

The fist held within his (comparatively tiny) hands trembled in place; rage vibrating through the elder Lightfoot. It was then that Ian registered a dense, dewy warmth spreading within his own silken grip; chocolate eyes dipping to find Barley’s wound was bleeding more profusely than before. 

“ ** _Barley_**!” Ian hissed, arms straining to apply more pressure to the wound beneath his palms. “Y-You’ve **_gotta_** _calm_ _down_!” Ian fussed, brows furrowing as a few stray tears drifted down his freckled cheeks. “A-And I’m _not_ letting you _hurt_ **_anyone_**. You can forget about that _right_ _now_. I’m **_serious_** ,” the fragile magician pleaded, voice wavering as he went. “That’s not even _who you are_ , Barley . . . I _know_ you. This _isn’t_ **_you_**.”

Barley shook his head adamantly. “No. No, no… What  _ isn’t _ me, is to let this slide, Ian! I am not going to just sit by and do nothing, knowing that you’re going to school with a bunch of rapist pigs. Just  _ give me their names. _ ”

Somber eyes shone curiously for a moment, gaze raising to meet his sibling’s in a waltz of gold and bronze. 

“R- _Rape_? . . . _Barley_ ,” Ian shifted in his place, a quivering sigh escaping him before he continued. “I-It _wasn’t_ . . . It wasn’t _like_ _that_. They—They _just_ —They didn’t d-do . . . _that_.” 

His ears dipped a bit lower, eyes squeezing shut as a shiver ran through him. 

“ _ They _ . . . W-We didn’t go  _ all the way _ . You picked me up . . . the night it could have been  _ that _ bad. B-But it  _ didn’t _ . I-I-It was  _ okay _ .” 

He lifted his gaze to meet his brother’s once again, mindful of keeping pressure on the man’s wound. 

“But they’re . . . They’re not _all_ _bad_ , Barley. I-It's not that _simple_ . . . A-And I’m not telling you _anyone’s_ name. You don’t _know_ them, a-and they didn’t _do_ anything to you. N-Now _stop_ _clenching_ , and _relax_.”

Far from absolute relief, Barley’s anger was somewhat eased to hear that Ian hadn’t been completely taken advantage of. He loosened his fist, not bothering to look down at it as he thought. More calmly he said, “If someone messes with you, they’re messing with me. That’s how it was when we were kids on the block. That’s how it’ll always be.” He glanced at Ian. “I’ll get you to tell me who it was later, but fine. I’ll let it go… for now.” 

Sighing, Barley continued, “So what about the rest of the year? I don’t want anything else to happen to you, not one single time. Okay?! No ‘easing out’ of this bullshit. If you’re in danger at school then I think you should leave. We’ll find an excuse for mom to get you to finish classes online. I’m gonna get gray hair thinking you’re in there getting dragged into bathrooms or broom closets.” 

Doe-eyes automatically darted to his brother’s head at his mention of graying hair, as though the effects of his current stress levels could have been instantaneous. 

“I-It doesn’t _happen_ . . . _in_ _school_. It’s always _after_ ,” he pledged, a shivering breath drawn as he coaxed the burly gamer into a seated position with him. “Sadie and Jenny . . . They’re _always_ with me. Don’t worry,” he proposed with a reassuring smile, but he couldn’t hold onto it. “Neighdyn helps too, when he’s not playing out of town . . . I-I _promise_ , Barley. I’m gonna be _fine_ at school.”

Barley bit his lip, a long pause before he nodded. “Okay. Okay… I’ll drive you to school and pick you up. Every day..” He spoke as if he were saying it to himself. “That’ll be good- that’ll… keep you safe…” Barley’s bottom lip wobbled a bit, glassy eyes finally spilling over. Hoarsely he choked, “Ian, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He reached out, pulling Ian into another embrace.

Ian allowed himself to melt into his sibling’s sturdy embrace for the second time that afternoon; but  _ this _ time, he tried his best to be the one to comfort  _ Barley _ . He hadn’t realized how much his secret could potentially wound his brother. 

He couldn’t say he’d ever seen Barley this way. 

The last time he could recollect seeing him so much as  _ shed a tear  _ . . .

A fresh tightness filled the frail teen’s throat as the hazy memory of his brother’s final goodbye with their father flooded his mind’s eye—

“Don’t  _ apologize _ , man . . . You haven’t done anything but  _ be here _ for me . . .  _ Always _ .” 

Ian found himself trying to hold Barley as tightly as he was being held, but knew his strength could never measure up. “ _ I love you _ , Barley . . . I-I’m really sorry for laying all this on you right now.”

Barley sniffed and then loosened his grip, and moved to press his forehead to Ian’s. “Hey, don’t be sorry either. I would always want you to tell me when things are bad. No matter how many picnic baskets are in danger.”

For a moment Barley wanted to tilt his head and kiss Ian, but he resisted. If Ian was in a vulnerable state, maybe it wasn’t what he needed right now. A sinking thought suddenly surfaced, but Barley pushed it back and put on a soft smile. “Guess we should go home, huh? I might need more than a dishcloth for this hand.”

After they shared a half-hearted chuckle, they went about cleaning up, being careful of the broken glass as they put everything away. Barley allowed Ian to carry just a little more on the walk back, on account of his cut. 

They drove home in relative silence, 80’s rock drifting from the speakers until they reached home. Barley parked out front and removed his seatbelt, but didn’t make a move to open the door. 

“Hey,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the steering wheel. “I uhm…” He spoke slowly, wanting to make sure he worded this right. “I get the feeling that with all that’s been going on with you, that you’ve… gotten kind of used to  _ compliance _ . Just… going with the flow wherever it went.”

Barley stopped, rubbing his mouth as he tried to figure out how to finish.

Ian’s brows furrowed in concern as he watched his elder sift through his remarks; speaking with care (and deeply in thought). 

“I-I  _ guess _ . . . Yeah,” he shrugged, doll-eyes finding the thinness of his knees to be of intense interest suddenly. “Wh- _ Why _ ? Where are you going with this?”

“Uhm… I guess I’m asking… well, I think we both know you had a little more to do with that first time when we practiced kissing, and you escalated things. Which is fine, you know I loved it. But… I guess I’m just concerned that there might have been some point in time where you came to your senses and wanted to back out, but you didn’t? Because you’re used to just going with things. I mean yeah I know that you love me, and I love you too. But if you ever felt like you just wanted to be brothers again, I’d…” Barley paused, because the truth was that it would hurt like nothing else to let go of this new found connection to Ian. But it would have been selfish not to finish. He continued, “I’d find a way to deal with that. I wouldn’t want you to feel trapped.”

Chocolate eyes darted to catch his elder’s during the brief little pause he’d given, and Ian was already shaking his head. 

“N _ -No, no, no _ . It’s not  _ like _ that, Barley . . .” Ian turned in his seat, eyes gentle and earnest as he reached to rest a narrow hand against the breadth of Barley’s forearm. “I was . . . I’ve  _ been _ wanting to do what we’ve been doing—for  _ so long _ . For  _ years _ ,” his face heated at his admittance, gaze dropping to the tattoo on his brother’s bicep. “Y-You have  _ no idea _ how long I’ve been wanting . . .  _ this _ . What’s going on between us  _ now _ ,” his thumb traced along the dense muscle beneath it as he spoke. “I’m really  _ happy _ ,” he smiled, voice breaking with a surge of emotion he wasn’t sure how to control, “I . . . I’m  _ fine _ , man. You make me happy.” 

Glassy hazel eyes met his brothers, and Barley turned his hand over to hold Ian’s. He couldn’t kiss him or hold him now, not in front of the house, with Laurel and Colt inside. But it was the same for Barley. 

\--

The evening went by blessedly free of surprises. They made up an excuse about Barley’s hand, and Laurel insisted on fussing and cleaning it herself, as well as bandaging it properly. Over dinner they listened to Colt’s adventures in upholding the law, and after some TV time together, they went their separate ways. 

Half-lidded eyes pouring over the pages of one of his father’s old history novels, Iandore’s head swam with visions of what the following day could hold. Barley had proposed escorting him from school the next day (and _ any other day _ of his choosing), but a part of him dreaded the inevitable conversation with a particularly boorish member of the wrestling team he was sure to run into.

Shutting the weathered book with a listless sigh, he peeked at the phone on his nightstand with a furrowed brow; concern prickling through him as he recalled his sibling’s emotional upsurge earlier in the day . . .

Placing the novel aside, he plucked his phone from its place upon the bedside table, setting about composing a message to his brother, hopeful that he hadn’t retired for the night.

_ ‘Ian: Can I see you?’ _

Downstairs, sleep was not coming to Barley. Having given up for a while, he was sitting on his bed with the headphones to his walkman blaring in his ears. He had a bottle of whiskey in hand, one that he’d only half-finished during an especially eventful game night. Now he lifted it to his lips, taking a swig and swallowing down the burning liquid. The plan was to drink for the sake of falling asleep, but so far it hadn’t made a difference. 

When his phone buzzed, Barley dug it out from beneath the rumpled blanket he was sitting on. He read the message from Ian and pulled off his headphones, pausing the music and putting the walkman away. 

‘ _ Barley: Of course. u want me to come up? _ ’ 

Once he hit send, he took another drink from the bottle, tipping it up and draining the last of it. He looked at the bottle in surprise, as if he’d expected it to last longer. 

Watching his inbox expectantly; Ian’s patience was rewarded in-kind as his cell buzzed to life in his hands, a little smile slipping onto his lips as he answered back:

_ ‘Ian: I heard Colt go to bed a while ago. I’ll come to you.’ _

And with this, he gave himself a mirrorless once-over—one of Barley’s band-tees, underwear and socks all that currently clung to his lithe frame—and slid out of the warm embrace of his bed. He made his way out of his bedroom and slunk downstairs with an admirable silence he’d perfected over the years.

When he’d arrived at his elder’s door, he didn’t bother knocking—having already received an invite. He merely slipped inside and closed them in, locking the doorknob behind him as he turned to drink in a rather peculiar sight . . .

“H- _ Hey _ ,” he offered, the emptied bottle in his brother’s hands gleaming in the dim light of his bedside lamp. “Decided to party  _ without _ me,  _ huh _ ?” he smiled, shuffling along the hardwood floor as he came to stand before Barley. “A-Are you  _ okay _ ?”

“Oh y-yeah,” Barley stammered, seemingly surprised at the question. He looked dumbly at the bottle in his hands and said, “Ah, no I wasn’ partying, jus tryin’ to sleep.” He rolled sideways and braced himself on the mattress, slowly standing up and swaying. “Onesec,” he slurred as he crossed the room, noisily putting the bottle in the trash before returning. He stood in front of Ian, looking down at him and trying hard to focus. “Sorry, didn’t know you- wasn’t expecting…” He rubbed his forehead. “Sorry. You ok? Wanna talk?”

Ian’s brows quirked, an uncertain smile on his lips as he reached to rest his hands atop the elder Lightfoot’s infamous gut. 

“I-I think  _ you _ should probably  _ sit _ ,” he chuckled, guiding the sturdy elf into a seated position on his tousled bed before dipping in for a quick kiss; tasting whiskey on bristled lips. “I  _ actually _ . . . came down to  _ check on you _ ,” the magus admitted, taking a careful seat beside the sunshine-punk. “You . . . You had a really rough day. I was worried about you.”

Barley blew air from between his lips as if to literally blow off what Ian had said. “You shouldn’t be checkin’ on me. You’re the one who- HIC -had to live it. All I did was find out.” He gripped the bed beneath him as if it were moving, carefully crawling to the farther side and leaning back against the headboard. He patted the space beside him for Ian.

Ian’s eyes softened as he observed the boisterous gamer try and navigate his way across his own bed, realizing how far-gone he really was. Heaving a little sigh, the lanky teen moved to join his brother; settling onto his stomach, propped up on his elbows. 

“ _ Barley _ . . .  **You’re** the one laying there with a bottle of whiskey in your belly, a-and  **I’m** the one who came down to  _ check _ on you . . . So,” Ian chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully before continuing, “I-I think  _ finding out _ was . . .  _ more _ than enough.” 

He watched his brother’s dilated stare for a moment, smirking softly as he reached out to take the quester’s calloused hand within his own. 

“Can you please just . . . tell me what’s  _ on your mind _ ? How can I  _ fix _ this?”

Barley blinked slowly and glanced off into space, brows pulling together as he thought. And then they relaxed. “Lemme take care of you. Lemme… protect you. I wanna protect you from the whole fuckin’ world.” Barley’s eyes watered and he scrubbed at them. In a frustrated motion, he clumsily removed his hat and tossed it, his slightly greasy hair being ruffled in the process. 

Inadvertently chuckling at Barley’s use of profanity (delightfully uncharacteristic for him), he gave the fabler’s hand a firm squeeze. 

“ _Barley_ . . . It’s _okay_ , man. It’s . . . It's _old news_. It’s _okay_ ,” Ian assured, lifting the gentle giant’s hand to his full lips for a kiss. “The fact that you care so much? That means a lot,” he smiled, offering another tender kiss and a squeeze for reassurance. “You won’t always—We won’t be . . . _Maybe_ you’ll always be with me, but . . . I don’t want you to worry about me, if you _can’t_ be,” he continued, pursing his lips and dipping his gaze. “Y-You’re everything I could have _ever_ _asked_ _for_ , in a brother . . . But you’re your own man . . . Sometimes things _happen_. You can’t blame yourself for _everything_ that happens to me, for the rest of my life.”

Barley stared at him for a moment before slurring, “YessIcan.” And with that he swept his large arms around Ian, dragging him in to sit flush against Barley. Barley rested his cheek on top of Ian’s head, and stroked his shoulder like one would with a pet. He mumbled, “You juss stay right here forever and I’m gonna take care of you. You’re my baby brother an nobody’s gonna touch you.”

Ian wasn’t sure whether to chuckle or roll his eyes; and so he did a bit of both, allowing himself to be held and stroked for a few moments before instructing his drunken sibling to shift positions. 

“Could you . . . lay us down  _ flat _ ?” he tried, watching sluggish realization wash over Barley before the larger man moved to lay himself squarely onto his back; taking the frail wizard along with him.

And there they were: Barley lying there in his freshly inebriated state of bliss, with his younger sibling curled up onto the plush-firmness of his torso, peering up at him with rounded eyes. “A-Am I too  _ heavy _ ? I can lay  _ beside _ you, if it’d be easier for you to breathe.”

“Nah you’re light,” Barley murmured. “You’re the… the  _ lighter _ Lightfoot. Feels like holding a couple of grapes.” He reached down, one hand stroking Ian’s ear, and the other resting on his back. “You know,” he said, eyes drifting closed. “I love you.”

Crimson heat flooding his freckled cheeks, Ian’s ears perked (then dipped) at his brother’s admittance. 

He tried to recall the last time he’d heard Barley physically enforce his love . . . 

“I-I love you,  _ too _ , Barley,” the willowy conjurer smiled, thumbing across the Quest Master’s stomach adoringly as he snuggled himself into the combination of firmness and warmth beneath him . . . 

Something about the softness of Ian’s tone convinced Barley that he might not understand. And so he tilted his head, hands stilling on Ian. “No, nno, I mean I’m…  _ in love _ with you. Like, ‘kiss-you-under-the-stars’ love you. ‘Get-old-together’ love you. That’s… that’s what I mean.”

Iandore couldn’t help but balk, eyes gleaming with an authenticity he wasn’t entirely aware of as he found himself go rigid—and then melt—into Barley’s solid breadth. 

“I-I . . . I love you,  _ too _ ,” he tried again, a thickness in his throat he scarcely managed to choke back. “I love you  _ the same way _ ,” he corrected then, finding himself struggling to vocalize the full extent of his affections. 

Ian worried his bottom lip, doe-eyes seeking out his brother’s whiskey-kissed gaze as he felt the fullness of his flush veil the high-points of his delicate features. 

“I-I know we’re not under the stars, but . . . would you kiss me?”

Barley opened his eyes and looked at Ian with a sleepy gaze. He caressed Ian's face and ears with a gentleness that was at odds with his potential strength. "I'd kiss you anytime you want." He rolled onto his side, taking Ian with him. And then he closed their mouths together in a soft kiss. "Mmm," he murmured. "You're  _ so _ perfect."

Freckled cheekbones rouged over more-thoroughly at Barley’s post-kiss admittance; the whiskey on his elder’s breath warming Ian’s lips as he tasted it second-hand.

“I-I’m _not_ _perfect_ ,” he giggled, a furrow in his full brow as his eyes dropped to the quester’s chest. “If I was _perfect_ , I-I wouldn’t have waited so long to show you how . . . how much you _mean_ to me.”

He smiled sadly at the lucid memories of their grand adventure of yesteryear, breath quickening as a flood of unpleasant recollections arose along with the good. One of them being the way he’d spoken to his elder on more than one occasion, and the other being a cliffside moment; forever lost to the passage of time—

And Ian’s lips were on Barley’s in an instant, lushness pressing into trademark bristle as his hands reached to roam beneath the dark-colored fabric of the bigger man’s shirt. 

Barley’s hazy mind hung onto the last few of his brother’s words. There had been a number of years in the recent past when he wasn’t sure if Ian would ever truly want to be around him anymore. When Ian had reached high school, Barley had gotten the feeling that Ian was now in pursuit of his own future, separate from his sibling’s. And that was fair. He’d been growing up. So to hear him say those words, ‘ _ how much you mean to me _ ,’ felt like the high he hadn’t realized he was craving. 

Ian’s hand now rested over Barley’s heart. It beat frantically, as if to escape and be touched bare by Ian’s delicate fingers. A large hand and long fingers stretched wide over Ian’s lower back, pulling him closer. Barley responded to Ian’s urgent kisses in earnest, capturing those soft lips between his teeth, sucking, nibbling. He was less focused now. Lost in the moment. Barley felt Ian’s lips part, a warm breath against his mouth, and Barley deepened the kiss. His tongue pressed inside, wanting to taste every inch of his other half.

Ian wondered if the taste of his brother’s mouth would ever cease to intoxicate him; supple fingers pressing into the warmth of his broad chest, ghosting along the soft azure hair he found there . . . 

And then he pulled back, catching his breath before quickly dipping to place a brief kiss into the gamer’s bristled jaw. 

“C-Can you remind me again— _what_ _was_ _that_ about being perfect?” he smirked, eyes mischievous and innocent all at once.

Barley chuckled and reached for one of Ian’s hands, loosely lacing their fingers together. “Perfect Iandore,” he purred. “Clever, sweet Iandore with his perfect lips and perfect smile.” Barley’s eyes drifted closed. “Perfect boyfriend.”

Chuckling softly at his brother’s praise, Iandore squeezed the older Lightfoot’s hand as he watched him rest his eyes. He paused, merely observing Barley for a moment before craning his neck to kiss the dense fingers interwoven within his own. . .

“ _ Love you, _ ” he murmured, watching for any further stirs of life before rolling his eyes with a subtle smile. “Sweet dreams, young knight,” he whispered next; peppering two more kisses into the gamer’s hand and carefully unlacing their fingers. 

Once he’d ensured he’d given Barley enough time to fall into a sound sleep, the lithe magician crept from the bed and out of his elder’s room.

Slipping back upstairs and into the familiarity of his own bed, Ian found himself falling asleep with an oddly full heart; his brother’s adoration echoing about the ambling whirl of his mind, serving as a serenade for the night.

Tomorrow, would be another day.

To be continued.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A_seaof_wonders, LightningCloud9000, n0r0i, immortalTortilla, HotBarley, LmaoILoveOnward123, MissLightfoot23, we greatly enjoyed reading your feedback and appreciate your support so much!

The next morning Barley woke to the sound of Blazey howling and scratching at the door, presumably because of the mailman. He groaned and rolled over, and then blinked. What time was it? He grabbed his phone, which was on six percent, and found a text from Ian about having taken the bus to let him sleep.

Barley sat up instantly, his stomach turning with anxiety and guilt. How could he have missed the first morning he was supposed to take Ian to school? He texted him back.

_ ‘Barley: You should have woken me!!! I would have driven u! :( Is the bus safe? Did u make it into school ok??? _ ’

A minute later he received a reply from Ian.

_ ‘Ian: I’m perfectly fine. I wanted you to sleep. We talked about this? I told you the bus was safe. Drink some water. Love you. <3’ _

Barley fell back onto the bed, rubbing his forehead. Had they talked about it? He’d forgotten that part. There had been a lot of revelations yesterday. He texted Ian back and sighed.

Eventually Barley rolled out of bed properly, proofread an essay, and then went upstairs to Ian’s room. He made his way to Ian’s closet where his brother kept a row of old books and comics, and sifted through them until he found last year’s edition of the New Mushroomton High School Yearbook. 

He headed to campus for classes and then had a lunch break, where he wolfed down a sandwich and fries while flipping through the yearbook. Barley paused when he caught sight of the particularly brawny-looking face of a certain cyclops. Sure it was just a school portrait, but Barley vaguely remembered that face from when he’d attended school, and the temper behind it. Could he be  _ one of them? _

Barley wiped his greasy hands on his shorts and picked up his pen, jotting down the cyclops's name in a notebook. There were around forty other suspects listed above it. 

At the end of the day he drove to the high school, parking out front and shooting Ian a text to let him know that Barley was ready and waiting. He leaned back in his seat, watching as the bell rang in the distance and students began to pour out.

Pushing beyond the large glass doors and out into the afternoon sun, Ian heaved a little sigh of relief; chocolate eyes catching sight of a brightly colored vehicle parked (incorrectly) at a nearby curb—

“ _ Ian _ ,” a familiar voice called after him, tripping his heart into a swift drop.

On instinct, the little mage froze, then increased his pace a bit; sights set firmly on his brother’s hand-crafted steed—

“I’m  _ talking _ to  _ you _ , Lightweight,” the voice called again, much closer than he would have liked as a firm hand was placed upon his shoulder—then quickly removed.

Iandore turned in his place, already chewing his lip as he faced Tanner’s bemused leer. 

“Y-Yes?” he asked, forcing a smile that read more somber than naïve.

Charcoal-colored eyes watched him for a bit, strong arms crossing over a broad chest moments later. 

“I’m parked out back? Where I’m usually parked?” the sportsman quipped, furrowing his brows in a lilt of concern as he noticed his sunkissed peer’s fist clench at his sides. “What’s wrong?”

Baby-doll eyes darted about briefly, a little hum offered before thoroughly chewed lips parted to offer an explanation: 

“T-Tanner I,” he paused, casting a little look over his shoulder as if to plead for Barley’s patience. “I-I started  _ seeing _ someone, a-and I can’t do . . .  _ this _ anymore.” 

As he voiced his decision, he directed a tiny motion between himself and the athlete before him. 

“If you—If you want  _ help _ ? S- _ Studying _ ? For  _ real _ ? I-I-I’m here for you. But  _ that _ . . . That’s gotta be it.”

Dark eyes flickered with something . . . melancholy? Before settling into resentment; a scoff offered as Tanner took a step forward. 

“And does he know you’re a  _ slut _ ? Huh? Does he know you’ve swallowed half of the wrestling team?—”

“My ride’s here to pick me up. Can’t you . . . I-I’ll be here  _ tomorrow _ , and you can insult me  _ then _ ,” Ian smiled, brows pinched in apology as he backed away; Tanner’s broad hand instinctively reaching for him, but the willowy teen had turned around to face Guinevere the Second before he had a chance to give his antagonist another second of his time.

A thin hand raised to wave at Barley as he approached the passenger’s side door; pulling it open and lifting himself inside before turning to offer the quester a shallow smile. 

“ _ Hey _ . . . You came,” he sighed, tossing his backpack onto the floorboard and fastening his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride . . . How was everything today?”

His tone was stiff as he went; everything about him seeming forced and off-center even to his own ears.

“Oh you know, just school stuff,” Barley said, shifting into gear and making a u-turn toward the exit of the parking lot. They were immediately caught behind another line of cars, and Barley stopped, fingers tapping on the wheel. He thought about the time he’d spent with the yearbook, and felt torn. Barley didn’t want to lie to Ian, but he didn’t want to spoil Ian’s mood. Maybe he wouldn’t have to consider it lying if he just  _ postponed  _ sharing the information. 

Barley glanced sideways at Ian, smiling affectionately. “Want to get something to drink before we head home? Bardbucks maybe? Something drizzled with caramel?”

Ian’s sour mood slowly lightened; gently kissed by the neon waves of his brother’s glimmering aura. His day had been a little more stressful than he would have liked; having dodged Tanner well-into the afternoon before the situation apexed outside just moments ago. But he’d hoped that perhaps now, he could consider his relationship to the sportsman to be absolved.

“S-Sounds  _ great _ ,” he smiled back, muscles slowly relaxing into his taped-pleather seat. 

A constant sway of the stop-and-go traffic served to further relax the petite enchanter—the lively twang of Celtic Metal providing a familiar soundtrack for the remainder of their venture to Bardbucks—and Iandore was cautious to keep the banter between them lighthearted and casual.

There was something on his mind. Something Barley had confessed to him last night . . . But he wasn’t sure how best to bring it up.

After parking, they trekked inside and stood, glancing up at the menu.

“Do you know what you want?”

“Yeah,” Barley nodded. When they went next, he ordered a plain iced coffee. Ian ordered some sweet concoction whose name he forgot instantly. After paying, they looked around, and finding the place too busy, opted for one of the outdoor tables. There were no other people there, and aside from the distant rush of traffic, it was peaceful. 

They both nursed their drinks, the breeze rustling their hair and clothes. Barley took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked sideways at Ian, who was sipping on his drink. Barley tilted his head to the side, admiring how cute Ian looked. 

But then a look passed over Ian’s face, and Barley’s brows drew together. Hesitantly he asked, “How was your day?”

Ian’s eyes rounded at the familiarity of Barley’s voice cutting through his thoughts; a placated smile lighting his full lips as chocolate reached for caramel in a summit of curious glances. 

“T- _ Today _ ? It was fine.  _ Boring _ ,” Ian shrugged, taking another meager sip of his drink before placing his open palms beneath his willowy biceps. “I-I was  _ thinking _ about—How was your  _ head _ ?  _ Today _ ? A-After  _ last night _ ?” he inquired, brows furrowing as he worried his sibling may have suffered a bit of a hangover after his little binge.

Brows rising now, Barley said, “You’ve… been thinking about my head, huh? Well. My head is fine now. This morning it could have felt better. So what  _ else _ have you been thinking about?”

Ian’s brows furrowed a bit—something in his brother’s tone alerting him to the fact that maybe his attitude was registering as unusual . . . 

“ _ Barley _ ,” the spellcaster began, adjusting himself in his seat, “How much do you . . .  _ remember _ ? About last night?” 

He watched the brawny adventurer with a newfound focus, swallowing densely as he steadied his gaze on twin pools of flax. 

“Anything?”

Suddenly, Barley’s calm evaporated. A spike of stress shot into his system and his eyes widened a bit, muscles tensing. “Ian,” he said, his tone already apologetic. “Did I do anything that made you uncomfortable? I just remember cuddling.”

Ian’s hands slowly unwound from around his ribs, his head shaking slowly as a nervous chuckle escaped him. 

“Uh— **_No_ ** — _ Barley _ ,” he smiled, reaching out to rest a soft hand against the tenseness of his brother’s forearm. “You were—It was  _ nice _ . You were  _ great _ . . . I-I just wondered if maybe you remembered anything you . . . might have  _ said _ to me?”

Barley concentrated as if he were on a game show, and this was the million dollar question. “I… said you were perfect…? — ”

“You told me—You  _ said you were  _ **_in love_ ** _ with me? _ . . . A-And you  _ called me your  _ **_boyfriend_ ** ?” Ian quipped, the extremities of his features rouging as he removed his hand from the Quest Master’s arm in a little huff. “I-I-I just wanted . . . I didn’t know if that’s—Did you  _ mean _ that stuff? O-Or was it just the whiskey?” 

His tone bordered on melancholy as he offered his final inquiry, eyes softening despite the pretty shade of rose glowing along his youthful features.

Barley’s face flushed scarlet, all the way to his ear tips. He glanced away and then back at Ian. Was he serious? Barley had a feeling he was. He said, “Did I mean… I guess it depends on how you took it?” He gave Ian a nervous smile.

Ian balked, brows furrowing as a look of uncertainty washed over him. 

“How  **_I_ ** . . . took it?” he parroted, tone unsteady as he found himself slumping ever-so-slightly in his seat. “ _ Well _ ,” he began, dropping his confection-colored gaze to the elder Lightfoot’s jaw, “I-I  _ hoped _ maybe . . . Maybe I thought you  _ meant _ what you said,” he sighed, eyes dipping further to focus on the bigger man’s drink. 

“L- _ Look _ ,” his gaze bore a hole into the iced coffee across from him, “i-if you were just  _ drunk _ , a-a-and  _ saying stuff _ you thought I wanted to hear . . . that’s  _ okay _ . I-I guess maybe it’s a little early for that kinda talk, right?” Ian smiled, chuckling to clear the air as he wound his arms around himself once again. 

Sighing, Barley thought over what Ian had said. He replied with a gentle voice, but he felt confident. “Maybe it’s early for… what we started. But it’s not early for  _ us _ . I’ve known you forever, and I’ve loved you forever. Falling  _ in _ love with you was easy. And it was the truth.” 

Arms faintly loosening, the apprentice mage found his eyes rising to meet Barley’s once more, full lips parting as he absorbed what he’d been told. He swallowed a few times—an all-too-familiar lump in his throat that he’d mastered the art of fighting off—but he wasn’t certain that he could speak without succumbing to the force of his emotions. 

And so he nodded quietly until he was sure he’d composed himself enough.

“I told you . . . **_I_** was in-love with **_you_** , _too_ . . .” Ian divulged, eyes gleaming with something akin to relief as he chanced a quiet smile and ducked to take another drink of his own iced-coffee. “And ** _I am_**. . . A-And, _yeah_ ,” he shrugged, smiling softly as he studied his elder for a reaction. “I just wanted to hear you say it again,” he offered a cheeky grin and a little giggle as he relaxed into his seat once again. “I-I guess I just like it . . . when you tell me how you feel.”

“Well, that’s my forte,” Barley grinned. “And I’ll tell you as often as you want.” He took a long drink from the iced coffee, exposing ice as the coffee disappeared. And then after a moment’s thought, his expression took on something like chagrin. He glanced behind them at the bustle in the Bardbucks, but nobody paid them any mind. He said, “Did I… get handsy or anything?”

Ian’s brows pinched as he considered Barley’s implication; but he released a little chuckle in response as he shook his head, craning in for another (far longer) sip of his caffeine.

“N-Not as handsy as I  _ wanted _ you to be,” the wizard quipped, chancing a sly little smirk as he sought to make eye contact with the bristled-knight. “And I don’t want you to . . .  _ worry _ about that, Barley. Nothing has to  _ change _ . Just— **_listen_ ** —hear me out, man.” He sat himself upright, adjusting in his chair until he appeared a bit more poised.

“ _ That’s _ — **_This is_ ** —What you just said? Is one of the reasons why  _ I didn’t wanna tell you _ anything about . . . what happened. You . . . You can’t  _ punish _ me, Barley. A-And you can’t punish  _ yourself _ ,” he watched for any sign of dissonance before continuing. “I-If I’d told you  _ years _ ago, when it all started? Everything would have changed: The hugs, the teasing, the roughhousing . . . A-A-And I  _ don’t want _ that. I want you to treat me the same way,” he admitted, lower lip worried for a moment as he dipped to take another drink.

“Especially  _ now _ . . . I  _ like _ the way you touch me, Barley . . . Sometimes— _ yeah _ —I might get a little overwhelmed but . . . I’m always gonna want you to  _ ‘get handsy’ _ . . . Okay, so, talk to me.”

Sometime during Ian’s explanation, Barley’s gaze had moved from his brother to his drink, and the condensation beading on the surface. He said, “I don’t want you to feel like I’m treating you differently. I think… when you got scared, I got scared. Because I’d never want you to be afraid of me.” He continued quickly, not giving Ian time to interject. “But I  _ know _ you don’t really worry about me like that. You know everything about me! You know me better than Mom, even. So… if it happens again, if you get nervous, I’m gonna remind myself that it’s not about me. And if it  _ is _ , you’re going to have to say so. I’m not saying I can do all of that for sure, but I will definitely do my best.”

Ian nodded along now and again; the cheery timbre of his elder’s voice softening considerably as he shared his thoughts. 

“We’re both just . . . gonna have to  _ try _ ,” he answered, reaching out once again to pat the strength of Barley’s forearm in a show of comfort. “I-I’m glad we talked about this . . . I’m just—I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to tell you all this last night . . .”

And with this, the little mage heaved a sigh, taking a stand and extending his hand to Barley with a gentle smile. “Ready? I’ve got some homework to do . . .”

~*~

The next two days breezed by in a flurry of rides, classes, and homework. With Prom swiftly approaching, it seemed as though every class was going out of its way to bog the students down with as many assignments as possible. And the extra workload was taking its toll on the youngest Lightfoot; the after-hours studying and copious amounts of homework was making it nearly impossible for him to get any  _ alone time _ in with his elder brother, and that was leading to its own special kind of boiling point.

Wednesday had nearly reached its end—scarcely a blip on the svelte magician’s radar—until sometime between 4 th and 6 th period, when Ian excused himself to visit the restroom during one of his final classes.

Generally, he tried his best to keep his restroom breaks scheduled around Sadalia and Jenny’s availability to accompany him (at Sadalia’s request); but there were times when no amount of abstaining from water at lunchtime could predict his needs, and this was one of them.

He closed himself inside a stall and set about relieving himself, when the sound of the heavy door opening lit his flourished ear.

His mind immediately raced, a sense of dread trickled through him as he conjured up the possibility of one of his several pursuers having caught sight of him in the halls . . . But after a few moments of silence, he decided his paranoia was getting the best of him.

Leaning to flush and adjust himself, the fragile spellcaster turned to leave—only to find a familiar face looming overtop of the stall door.

Golden eyes—framed by scowl—blinked slowly in disinterest as a familiar icy terror washed over Ian.

“Last night was  _ our _ night, Lightfoot,” the minotaur sighed, scowl dissolving into an expression akin to melancholy as he motioned with his head for Ian to exit the stall. “I think we need to talk.”

“T- _ Talk _ ?” Ian smiled sweetly, attempting to stifle the telltale tremble in his chilled fingers. “I-I-I’m  _ sorry _ , Briar, I—”

“Come on out, little guy . . . Or would you like me to come in there?” the hybrid inquired, voice warm, but eyes somber.

Eyes that weren’t always so cold and unfeeling.

After a few moments of simply watching each other for a reaction, Ian steeled his nerves and exited the stall; not getting the opportunity to slip past Briar before the bigger man was pinning him against the adjacent painted-brick wall.

“ _ So _ ,” the horned aggressor sighed, dense grip adjusting so as to give Ian just enough space to breathe. “I heard a rumor . . . That you skipped out on  _ Tanner _ ? That you didn’t want to see him anymore?”

The little elf fidgeted beneath the minotaur’s luminous stare, golden-brown eyes darting to the door forlornly. 

“I-I didn’t tell him  _ that _ . . . I told him I-I started—”

“Fucking some  _ loser _ ?” Briar cut in, quirking an unruly brow as he awaited his answer.

“He’s  **_not_ ** a  _ loser _ ,” Ian snapped, eyes narrowing at the athlete’s broad chest—careful not to make eye contact. “He’s . . . He’s more man than  _ you _ are—A-A- **_Any_ ** of you are. And the  _ only _ reason you’re  _ all _ not  _ expelled _ right now, i-is because I wouldn’t tell him  _ who you guys were. _ ”

An uneasy silence fell between the two teens; the larger merely observing the sun-kissed magus before stooping to catch his dewy gaze. 

“You can threaten me all you like, Lightfoot. But, we both know how much you love the taste of me. We both remember how many times you’ve gotten yourself off, on your knees, with me halfway down your neck—”

A firm knock and a muffled voice broke through the giant’s salacious monologue.

_ “Ian? You alright in there? I saw ya pass Mr. Watson’s class . . .” _ Jenny called from beyond the heavy door _. “I’ll walk ya right back when ya finish up,” _ she pressed, causing the sportsman to loosen his grip and take a single step away.

“Of course,” Briar sighed, exhaling a steaming breath from flared nostrils. “We’re _not_ _done_ here, Ian. We’re going to talk about this _later_. Like it or not,” he warned, relinquishing his grip upon his brittle captive; watching him scurry out the door and out into the vibrant company of his satyr comrade . . .

~*~

With the ringing of the final bell, Iandore made short work of collecting his things and making his way out and into the golden embrace of the afternoon sun; catching sight of the ever-familiar second edition of his brother’s noble steed.

After bidding the light sprinkling of his friends passing by a few farewells for the evening, the freckled magician made his way across the parking lot and into the roaring steel embrace of Guinevere.

“ _ Hey _ ,” he deadpanned; doe-eyes darkened by fatigue and disappointment as he fastened his seatbelt.

He wasn’t interested in meeting Barley’s lingering amber gaze. At least, not yet.

Not for lack of desire, but for fear of questioning.

Goodday, Sir Iandore!” Barley said, shifting into gear. They drove to the exit, and like every other day, the cars bottlenecked at the end of the lot. Barley stopped, waiting until they could pull up more. He looked sideways at Ian with a bright expression, which dimmed just a little at what he saw. 

“You look burned out, man. They running you ragged in there?”

The petite youth didn’t bother masking the heavy sigh he released in response to his sibling’s concern; nodding numbly in agreement as he watched the traffic before them disperse to allow them access. 

And before he knew it, they were off again. 

“Yeah,” he exhaled, winding his arms around himself before sinking further into the duct-taped interior. “I-I don’t wanna talk  _ my _ day. Tell me about  _ yours _ ?  _ Please _ ?” he pleaded in a bit of a croak, gnawing at his lower lip in anticipation.

Barley’s brows rose. Was this about the guys? Was it just school overwhelming Ian? He did tend to take academics very seriously. Either way, Barley was concerned and curious, but did his best to resist prying. He didn’t want to treat Ian like the Elvish Inquisition. He shrugged and faced ahead of him, looking at the road and moving again when it was their turn. 

“Hmm… my day… Well, our History professor actually referenced Quests of Yore in class today. I mean, it’s about time. He’s always talking about the same material but only when it’s been referenced in some other rune book or something. So, that’s about the height of excitement in my day. Oh wait, the taco truck came back to campus. That was also a major highlight.” 

He looked at Ian once more and felt his heart tighten. Ian looked distracted, and utterly run-down. “Wanna skip coffee, Iandore? Take a little nap before dinner?”

Ian’s lips curved into a soft smile at the mention of the Taco Truck. Barley’s appetite always managed to put a smile on his face, in its own odd little way. It was like any other point of difference between them, and those differences kept him entertained. 

“Yeah . . . No coffee,” he grumbled, offering a single soft shake of his head before risking a quick glance at his brother. “ _ Thanks _ for . . .  _ doing _ this, Barley. Picking me up every day,” he mused, letting his dusky gaze slip back to the steady flow of traffic.

The remainder of the Lightfoot brothers’ ride home had been uneventful at best. 

The younger of the duo tossed a few careless greetings at their mother on his way inside, and excused himself from his evening meal with as few words as possible before dragging himself upstairs and into his bed.

But the inky scenario in the men’s restroom replayed itself time and again in Iandore’s mind, despite his best efforts to sleep. In the end, he found himself giving up altogether in favor of toiling through his homework and assignments for the next several hours.

The more he dwelled upon it, the angrier he became; the pressure in his chest and lungs reaching a simmering point that pooled between his willowy thighs . . .

And then it hit him:  _ Desire _ .

Not exactly the kind of desire he wanted to admit to feeling; but the kind that was granted to him following the events of the day.

His ears honed-in on the empty sounds and peaceful silence of his home as he pulled himself to his feet and made his way downstairs—happy to find the lighting dim and the living area empty.

And then he paused—hesitating for a moment with nimble fingers rested against Barley’s doorknob as he listened for signs of activity—before deciding he wasn’t in the mood to care. 

He knew his brother would find time for him, even if he  _ was _ intruding.

Pushing his way passed the threshold to find the burly gamer pouring over one of his textbooks, Ian didn’t offer him a chance to react. He crossed the room, fisted his hands into the collar of Barley’s shirt, and tugged their mouths into a searing kiss just as his elder opened his mouth to protest.

“Ian-mphh!” Barley’s questioning words were muffled as Ian crushed their mouths together. Moments ago he’d been immersed in the rise of the Selkies and was contemplating sleep. Now he wasn’t tired in the least. He reached for Ian, pulling him close so the younger elf’s legs were snug between Barley’s. Large hands slid up slender thighs and a petite frame, squeezing his little rear. And then his arms wrapped around him, pulling them together. 

When their lips parted, Barley whispered to him. “Wow.”

Relinquishing his hold on his brother’s collar in favor of his bristled jaw, Ian scarcely caught his breath before craning to lick dryness from Barley’s lips, savoring the flavor of Mount Doom that was rapidly becoming his favorite. “I-I’m gonna—Do you want some  _ head _ ? L-Like  _ right now _ ?” he inquired, pupils blown wide with lust as he connected their lips once again; Ian’s tongue tasting and exploring before pulling away with a little tug of Barley’s bottom lip. “A-A-Actually,  _ fuck me _ . Grab your keys. We can do it in Gwinny so we don’t wake mom up.”

"Y-Yes ple- uuuuh, huh?! You want me to-" Barley froze, immediately dizzy with the thought of it. His hands closed more tightly around Ian's rear, kneading and spreading his little cheeks. He imagined it clearly, Ian's tight ring being stretched open as he finally pushed inside. Holding him now, it seemed impossible that Ian would ever be able to handle it, but Barley’s cock was already responding, perking with interest. 

Barley gaped at him, thoughts disorganized, and a fire behind his eyes. But then he shut them, extinguishing the blaze and trying to take a step back. His hands stilled on Ian’s rump, sliding up to his waist. “Uhh… I-Ian… that sounds great, it sounds so amazing… but yanno prom is only a few days away. We could make it special, if you wanted, wait until prom night…?”

The frail conjurer chewed his lower lip, frustrated by the loss of warmth and pressure against his rear. And so he dove in for another kiss; tongue once again greeted by the artificial sweetness of his brother’s favorite soda; breaking away with a little lick and another well-placed bite. 

Confectioner’s-chocolate eyes rounded to baby-doll perfection as he thumbed along the stubble of Barley’s jaw. 

“Y-You don’t want me  _ right now _ ?” he inquired, not waiting for a reaction before pulling away to sink to his knees; nimble fingers reaching to fumble with the button and zipper of Barley’s shorts. “A-Anything I can do to  _ change your mind? _ ”

Eyes widening, Barley’s breath hitched. “I think you already did.” 

A little smirk lighting on his delicate features as he pulled his sibling’s shorts open to reveal the rapidly hardening bulge in his neon boxers; Ian next set about releasing the pierced, pulsating monster from its polyblend cage—through the opening to the front—wasting little time filling his mouth with as much of it as he could manage in one long dive.

He tried his best to mind his teeth, but Barley was broad in every conceivable way, and he found himself worrying about causing him any discomfort. And so, Ian pulled back, taking in a bit of air before trying again; attempting to push passed the widest point of the shaft and slide his brother’s manhood into the slick tightness of his throat.

It wasn’t as much as he’d wanted to take, but he felt accomplished—the burning in his jaw (and lack of oxygen) forcing him to recoil again—a few glistening strands of saliva connecting his full lips to the engorged head of Barley’s cock.

“You taste so good,” he smiled wantonly, breathing deep and forcing his curls from their place upon his brow before dipping to swallow the brazen adventurer once again.

A few good bobs (some a bit too earnest), and Ian found himself choking on the rigid length. But he held his ground; knowing full well the vibrations and convulsions from his throat would add to the experience. And when he could stomach no more, he pulled away, a deep flush gracing his dappled cheeks as lust-clouded eyes begged Barley for encouragement.

“I-Is that how you like it? Y-You can fuck my throat if you want.”

Barley’s face was flushed entirely. His mouth had fallen open, pants and gasps escaping him as he tried not to groan out loud. When Ian spoke to him, Barley loosened his grip on the arms of his chair, not having realized how tightly he was holding on. 

Still gaping, Barley nodded at his little brother. Ian’s large eyes were watering, blue lips touched with a ruddy pink from the self-imposed abuse. Barley reached for him, taking his face in his hands and stroking it lovingly. Quietly Barley said, “Open your mouth.”

A little nod offered—followed by a brief pause. 

“Try— _ Don’t _ cum yet, okay?” the willowy mage chuckled, sniffling softly before guiding one of Barley’s broad hands to the back of his head. 

And then he did as he was instructed; opening his mouth to accept the head of the gamer’s solid length before waiting patiently for the bigger man to work himself into a comfortable rhythm.

Barley momentarily panicked when he realized that Ian really wanted him to set the pace. There was so much power in such a thing, and he didn’t want to overwhelm him. He wasn’t blind to the fact that he could potentially overwhelm anyone, much less someone with such a small mouth and slender neck. But he moved on instinct, guiding Ian’s lips around the head. Pulling him down, Ian took it in deeper, and Barley groaned. He couldn’t believe how much he could take. Holding onto him gently but firmly, he eased him off again, hoping Ian would meet his eye and indicate that it was okay.

Upon Barley guiding his head back up to allow him some air, Ian offered a little nod and a wink; lashes wet and eyes tearful, but he seemed determined to take as much as he could of the stout quester. But when Barley picked-up the pace a bit, the occasional gag or gurgle filled the silent expanse of his elder’s room. 

So the next time he was granted a breath, he inquired: “Am I being too noisy? I’m sorry.”

“N-No,” Barley stammered. “You’re s-so wonderful. God, it feels- Fuck, I…” He smiled at the expression on Ian’s face, and shifted to the end of the seat. Barley guided Ian down onto himself again, and with the new position, was able to rock his hips into each thrust. Barley’s eyes fell closed as he moved, fingers entwining in Ian’s soft curls. “You’re so good. So good. God, Ian…” Barley released him once more and said, “If it’s too much, can you tell me? Maybe.. Uh, pat my leg?”

The bigger man’s inquiry inspired another watery nod, a cursory lick offered along the mithril barbells on the underside of his pulsating manhood. Ian took a moment to catch his breath before wordlessly accepting more of his brother’s length, finding his elder’s thrusts were clean and carefully orchestrated (even while having quickened). 

It was a different experience from what he was accustomed to. 

It was  _ admirable _ , it was  _ sweet _ , and wasn’t unappreciated by any means; but he anticipated a time when the older Lightfoot wasn’t so afraid of injuring him, and would really allow himself to let loose.

There was a part of Iandore—a little darker and a little deeper than the rest—that wanted to feel his brother dominate him. Use him in the way he was accustomed to being used. A clean slate to wipe away the filth of his past experiences with the sportsmen at his school.

Barley allowed him to breathe again, and Ian readily accepted, swallowing as much air as he could before wiping his face and profound nose on the back of his sleeve before offering the Quest Master a passion-glazed look. 

“You taste  _ amazing _ , Barley,” the lithe wizard smiled, placing a loving little kiss against the tip of his sibling’s erection. “Getting close?”

Barley couldn’t look away from Ian, who was starting to look like a phenomenal wreck. It was in every good, tantalizing way. It was a look that Barley had never seen before, and he couldn’t let this end yet. He couldn’t give up that beautiful messy expression on his brother’s face. “N-Not yet,” Barley managed. 

A moment later Ian had his mouth wrapped around him again, and Barley was pulling him in with quickening thrusts. His hips moved more and his hands less, body rocking forward. Ian’s mouth felt so good, the occasional, hair-raising brush of teeth, something he wouldn’t be able to help with so much squeezing in, the slide of his writhing tongue, the feeling of the back of his throat, and  _ deeper _ . 

“Agh…  _ Ian _ ,” he said softly, “I’m close but I can’t- I can’t stop-” He started pounding into the tight, hot mouth of his little brother, balls tightening as he got closer. “Fuck, fuck, please… I can’t sto-” Barley tightened his hold on Ian’s hair, eyes falling shut. Then he froze, body going rigid as he came. His prick twitched, cum pumping in heavy spurts down Ian’s throat. 

As a sudden onset of frantic pounding began to take place, Ian’s eyes searched for Barley’s only to find that from the angle he was at, he couldn’t quite see him. However, he could  _ hear _ him say he was approaching his orgasm. And as ready and willing as the svelte magician was at this point; he was hungry to accept any and all of what his brother had to offer.

And intrinsically, that seemed to be quite a lot. 

Rope after rope of thick, glistering release spurted down Ian’s throat; filling his belly more than he’d originally estimated. It was a comforting, pride-inducing feeling, to know that he’d made Barley feel good enough to cum this hard. 

Finally: A worthy accomplishment.

So as his sibling basked in his afterglow, Ian found himself released enough to pull off and breathe; coughing and heaving for just a moment before wiping his face and offering the fabler a saucy wink.

“You did great, Barley . . . I’m so full now.”

Barley had shoved his hat off of his head to run his fingers through his damp hair. He returned the smile, releasing an embarrassed chuckle at Ian’s comment. “Jeez,” he said. “That was-” He reached for Ian, pulling him into his lap with just enough room to keep anything from grinding against his sensitive, softening dick. He kissed Ian, feeling how damp his skin was with wiped-away cum and saliva, the musky smell of him on Ian’s mouth. Soft lips barely responded to the kiss, as if Ian were simply too tired. Barley quietly murmured, “You are so… so fucking hot. Not that I know any better, but there’s no way that wasn’t the best dick-sucking that anyone could ever do. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

The feeling of being kissed barely registered to the little mage’s numb lips; though he appreciated the gesture, and tried his best to lazily kiss back. 

And then came the praise; a sheepish little smile tugging at his lips as he shrugged from his place in his brother’s lap (mindful of his exhausted manhood). 

“W-Well you don’t have to wrap  _ your _ head around it. That’s what  _ I’m  _ here for,” Ian jested, cringing and chuckling at his own poorly executed joke almost as soon as he’d said it. “ _ Sorry _ ,” he sighed, brows furrowed as he pressed an especially tender kiss into his brother’s damp forehead. “Well . . . I-I’m gonna go upstairs and take care of myself now. You should shower up and get some sleep.”

Barley barked out a laugh as he tucked himself in, looking at Ian as if he were the biggest mystery. “What the hell do you mean?! You’re not going to let  _ me _ ?”

Ian blinked once, then twice; full lips flattening as he considered for a moment. 

“ _ Nah _ , man. It's okay. I-I know how it feels when you’re done. You’re just . . .  _ done _ ,” he chuckled with a shrug and a shake of his head. “It's not  _ fun _ anymore when  _ you’re _ already finished, and someone  _ else _ wants to keep going _. I got this _ ,” he informed with another tender kiss; sliding off of his elder’s lap and straightening himself out; a tell-tale wet spot at the front of his skinny jeans.

Barley took hold of Ian’s belt loops, trapping him. “Hey, hey, hold on. That  _ cannot _ be right. I want to take care of you  _ too _ , Ian.” He pulled the belt loops until Ian was close again. “Do you have any idea how you look when you’re enjoying yourself? Do you know what it  _ does to me? _ C’mon. What if we…” A playful expression crossed Barley’s features. “What if you sit on my face?”

Ian’s pulse instantly thundered at the bigger man’s suggestion; fawn-eyes and a gnaw of his lower lip offered as he weighed his options.    
  


“I-I dunno. That’s kinda . . .” he mused, eyes flitting around the room as he considered. “I like it but it's . . . It's  _ overwhelming _ . I-I-It's hard for me to be quiet when your . . . tongue’s . . .  _ inside me _ ,” he stammered, the very words on his lips causing him to flush more deeply than he had all night. “A-A-And I haven’t  _ showered _ yet.”

For a moment Barley stared, and then he grinned wider. “Okay then. If it makes you more comfortable, go take a shower first.” When Ian started to object, Barley put a finger to his lips. “Ah ah, no arguing. Go.”

The broad finger to his lips and the firmness of Barley’s tone triggered something in Ian that made his heart skip a beat, his expression softening as he offered a little nod and a delicate smile. 

Tentatively, his lips parted; tongue offering a timid lick—followed by a playful bite—at the calloused fingertip pressed against them. 

“ _ Okay _ ,” he offered simply, stepping away and exiting the room to make his way upstairs and into the (seemingly freshly cleaned) bathroom.

Running the tap until it was warm enough for his liking, the svelte mage set about removing his clothes and neatly stacking them upon the closed toilet seat—stepping into the shower and beneath the spray.

Too-warm water brought a rosy flush to the high-plains of Ian’s nimble body as he set about rinsing himself off, then reached for the bottled soap he generally used. It was one separate from everyone else’s that Laurel indulged him in despite the price; but he insisted that it was worth it (though she argued that she couldn’t tell a difference).

After Ian had left, Barley spent about five minutes resting, sprawled out on his bed. He knew how long Ian took to shower even on a rush-day. Despite having been sucked off in the most ludicrously hot way Barley could imagine, he couldn’t help being a little turned on thinking about Ian upstairs, lathering up his lanky frame. 

When he figured Ian had had enough time to himself, he crept upstairs. Two soft knocks and he went into the warm humidity of their bathroom. The vent whirred above, and the shower water rushed on the other side of the curtain.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he shrugged off his vest and then his shirt.

Sheepishly peeking around the curtain, doe-eyes widened—then softened—as he found himself catching Barley slipping in and shrugging out of his vest. 

“ _ Hey _ ,” he replied softly, pulling back the curtain a bit and smiling coyly as he watched his brother undress; bulk and muscle revealed as the layers fell away. “Did you . . . wanna  _ shower _ together?” he chirped, keeping his volume in check. 

He shifted aside, allowing his broad companion to step beneath the spray along with him; giggling at the little wince Barley offered at the temperature.

“God, it’s freakin’ scalding,” Barley hissed, adjusting the temperature. He made it slightly hotter than he was used to for Ian’s sake, but only just. 

Skin salvaged, Barley turned his attention on Ian. He looked like candy, standing there naked and giggling. “Mmm, yeah I was thinking this might be better.” He pulled Ian close, hands moving along his slippery, bare skin. He leaned down and kissed his mouth, tongue slipping inside to flick against Ian’s. He kissed Ian’s neck and nibbled the edge of his ear. One of his hands slid down the cleft of Ian’s rear, a finger playing with his hole. Then he whispered, “I can’t wait to tongue-fuck you. Wanna feel your body shake.”

Shivers ran through Iandore’s slender body at Barley’s hushed rumble; finding himself arching against the dense finger threatening to intrude. He leaned his weight against his brother’s on instinct, melting into the kisses and caresses as large hands roamed the shallow plains of his freshly washed frame. 

“D-Don’t say that kinda stuff,” he protested, feeling heat rush to his face as his heart raced. 

In honesty, he loved every word on Barley’s lips; but he thought it proper to feign a bit of modesty.

“Mmm, I think you like it,” Barley teased, removing his hand so that the hot water ran down over Ian’s entrance. And then he let go. “Alright, turn and spread em.” 

Ian bit back a smirk at his brother’s assumption: He was  _ correct _ , but Ian would never admit to it aloud. 

With a little nod and a whirl of his axis; Ian pressed himself against the adjacent wall; resting his cheek against the cold tile of the shower and spreading his rear as wide as he could. His entrance twitched at the newfound exposure, loins stirring to life in anticipation of things to come.

Barley tried to imprint the sight into his memory, before kneeling down and taking Ian’s rear in his hands. The hot water pelted against his hair and shoulders as he leaned in, licking at the tight pucker. He was overeager now, not wasting much time before he pressed his tongue inside. He plunged in and pulled out, first in a slow rhythm and then more quickly. 

With one hand he kept Ian’s cheeks spread, and with the other he reached for a nearby bar of soap. After turning it over in his hand once or twice, he wrapped his arm around Ian’s hips and closed his fingers around the younger man’s prick. Sudsy fingers stroked him as his tongue continued to bury inside. 

The cozy steam of the shower, the cold tile against his skin, the occasional splash and trickle of water . . . And now slick muscle prodding his entrance, and a calloused hand around his cock.

Ian found himself nearly overstimulated. 

His eyes rolled back, one of his hands clutching at his mouth and his nose to stifle the whimper that escaped him as he felt his sibling’s tongue enter him time and again; he caught somewhere between arching his back into Barley’s mouth, and thrusting into the hand wrapped around his hardness.    
  


“I-I might not last that long,” he warned as quietly as he could, reaching behind him to tangle nimble fingers in the dampness of his brother’s hair. “S-Slow down.”

Barley eased up, hand stroking slower. He reeled in some of his enthusiasm too, tonguing him at a more leisurely pace, and occasionally licking the cleft of his ass. For a moment he pulled away and asked, "You like that,  _ baby _ ? You want something more?"

The word ‘baby’ exiting his brother’s lips—and aimed toward him—would never cease to amaze Iandore. The mere thought of something so darling and so intimate being used to refer to  _ him,  _ made him weak in the knees for a moment; another involuntary moan stifled by a trembling hand. 

“P- _ Please _ ?” was all he could muster at first, posture slipping as his hand slid down the wet tile. “A- _ Anything _ you  _ want _ .”

Barley rose to his feet and blindly reached for a bottle on the shelf, which ended up being Ian’s conditioner. He poured some into his hands and slicked them together, and then pressed his broad chest to Ian’s back. Barley kissed his slender neck, slow, open-mouth kisses as he slid his hand between Ian’s cheeks. His middle finger found the tight entrance and pushed inside.

Barley’s fingers were big. 

It was no secret, and should have come as no surprise. 

But when the quester’s dense digit eased inside him, Ian couldn’t bite back the yelp that escaped. He labored to steady himself against the tile with both hands, but his body was once again thrown for a loop. He wanted to back onto his brother’s intruding finger, but also wanted to arch away from it. 

It was a big stretch for someone who hadn’t been penetrated very often (or with much success). But following a few slow, deep breaths, Ian stilled himself; clenching his supple fists and pushing himself back against his brother’s hand, determined to allow himself to be stretched in favor of bigger things.

The clench of Ian’s body around Barley’s finger nearly had him melting. Barley groaned, fingering him deeper when Ian leaned into it. He was completely hard by now, and couldn’t help rocking against Ian’s rear as he felt his insides. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Barley breathed. “You are so warm and tight in there. I can’t wait- I can’t wait until I can fit inside you. I wanna feel you so deep, Ian. I want to know how it feels when you cum around my dick. Fuck…” Barley nearly whimpered against Ian’s neck, sliding his finger out a little and then pushing it in again. He reached in front of Ian again, palming his cute package as he finger-fucked him.

Goosebumps and hairs raised on every inch of Ian’s skin, at Barley’s praises and admittances alone. 

Then, white-heat shot through him as something inside him touched; and the sound that escaped him caused him to recoil at his own volume. He felt himself quivering, breath catching in his throat he struggled to still himself. 

“A- _ Another _ —Add  _ more _ ,” he whispered, eyes watering as his prostate was brushed against here and there; a thin knuckle raised to his teeth to bite down upon. “ _ Hurry _ .”

Barley’s eyes shot open and he looked down Ian’s back to the place where they were connected. Ian’s desperate plea for haste didn’t give him time to think. He just moved, pushing a second fingertip in beneath the ring of muscle and deeper, stretching him more tightly.

Ian’s body tensed against his elder’s broad chest at the haste in which his second finger was added; but within a few seconds, the sensation of being stretched gave way to fullness and a familiar warmth pooling at the pit of his flat stomach—

“S- _ Stop _ —Your hand,” Ian whimpered, reaching down through his lust-clouded haze to bat his brother’s palm from his twitching manhood. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he gritted, breaths coming short and ragged as he sank his tightness onto both of Barley’s fingers; legs shaking as they found the place inside him that made him weak—falling back against his sibling for support. “I-Its too good.”

Barley ground against Ian as he continued to move his fingers inside him, rubbing wherever it was that was making Ian gasp and tremble. Barley kissed his neck and shoulder, sucking little bruises into the pale blue skin. “Nothing’s too good for you,” he said, nuzzling his bony shoulder.

Barley’s last little utterance almost put Iandore over the edge right then and there.

He didn’t feel  _ worthy _ .

The accusations of his abusers echoed throughout the haze of his mind; bitter reminders of how little he was worth in the eyes of so many . . .

But to Barley? To his hero? He was worth  _ everything _ . 

And now, in the quiet warmth and white noise of the shower, he was being shown what being worth everything to someone could feel like.

“B-Barley,  _ please _ ,” the little mage panted, beginning a steady rocking motion with his hips that caused him to stimulate himself using his brother’s fingers. “ _ Please _ fuck me. J-Just  _ put it in _ .” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the logician in him knew that two fingers was far from enough prepping for him to take the monster resting against his lower back.

But he was too far gone to care.

Barley released a long, pained groan. Precum dribbled from his cock and washed away with the hot water. More than ever he wanted to do it, wanted to  _ fuck Ian for real. _ He wanted to make it fit, to feel himself push into Ian’s little hole and be inside him. He wanted to claim Ian in every way possible. They could never go back from it, and that would be perfect.

But despite the thickness of Barley’s fingers, they weren’t close to the girth of his cock. Ian would be hurt for sure. What if he made Ian cry or bleed? He couldn’t risk that, no way in hell. “I can’t,” he said, in the most apologetic tone. “I want to. I want to so badly.” He pumped his fingers harder, and then buried a  _ third _ in with the first two. That alone was too much, and he knew it. But it was as much as he would allow Ian to take.

Ian released what would have been a choked sob, if not for the quivering hands clutching his face. The third finger filled him to a level he knew was pushing his body too far. He knew he didn’t rip, but any more, and Barley would be causing him damage. 

Still, he backed himself onto his sibling’s fingers; trying his best to work up a rhythm despite the fact that his entrance was straining to accommodate the offending girth. 

“J-Just the  _ head _ ?” he whimpered as he found himself overwhelmed and frustrated. “I-I need you so bad, Barley.”

Barley felt a stab of frustration at Ian's pleas. Was he the only one of them with any concern for Ian's body? And Barley was already  _ dying _ to give Ian what he wanted. 

"No," Barley said firmly. "This is all you can take, and you know it. Now I want you to cum for me." 

He continued to pump his fingers into the taut hole, and reached once more for Ian's prick. Barley stroked him hard and fast, no longer trying to prolong his finish. 

The lissome mage’s body tremored at the tone of his brother’s voice; his frustration with being told ‘no’ bringing his mystic blood to a steady boil. 

But something in him bit back his argument. 

In that moment, with that tone—Barley’s word was law. 

And so he let it go, not being given the chance to dwell upon the subject before his cock was taken into a large fist once more.

Barley’s strokes were too much too fast, and the three fingers mashing against his prostate had the petite spellcaster releasing in seconds; ribbons of pearlescent climax splashing against the tile wall before him.

Unsteady hands smothered his cry of release as best they could—the ring of muscle around Barley’s fingers clamping them tightly in a hot vice that pulsated in time with his orgasm . . .

And then came the slump. 

If Barley hadn’t been so quick to steady him—with the hand that previously stroked him to completion—the freckled teen would have slid to the shower floor.

He heaved for a few moments, allowing himself to catch his breath against the rise and fall of his brother’s chest before attempting to balance himself. But his legs felt boneless and he found his head swimming as he tried to regain his composure.

“Thanks, Barley . . . It—That was  _ amazing _ ,” he smiled, eyes soft and heavy in his afterglow. “Lemme help you again?”

Barley smiled at Ian’s thanks, feeling like he’d happily do it again whenever and however often Ian needed it. When Ian offered his own help, Barley couldn’t say no. He was close to finishing just from what he’d seen. He nodded. “Kneel for me?”

He helped Ian move to his knees, shaky and unsteady, and pressed the tip of his aching dick to his brother’s lips. Ian opened for him and he slid inside, sighing with appreciation. Moments later Barley had his fingers twisted into midnight curls as he fucked Ian’s face. Each thrust sent the head of his prick down the smaller elf’s throat. Self-indulgently, Barley moved one hand to the front of Ian’s neck, feeling the bulge with each thrust. Suddenly he was coming, holding onto Ian tightly as hot cum flooded the narrow passage for the second time that evening. 

Once he’d pulled out, Barley too sunk to his knees. “Fuck,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to Ian’s.

They both jumped at the sound of someone knocking on the bathroom door. A second later it opened, and they remained frozen behind the thin, plastic curtain. “Ian?” Colt called out in a hushed voice, as if he didn’t want to wake someone. Barley turned off the water and looked at Ian.

Time itself seemed to slow to a stop . . . 

Ian’s pupils constricted as a near fight-or-flight response triggered within him at the intrusion, but he had to keep himself together. 

“Y- _ Yeah _ ?” he replied meekly, voice escaping in a tremoring squeak.

Colt cleared his throat. “Erm, your mother and I were just gettin’ worried is all, you’ve been in there a long time. And we thought we heard… uh…” The two Lightfoot brothers could hear the uncomfortable shifting of hooves on the tile. “Eh, well, we thought we heard you cryin’ in there. And I thought I’d let you know that you can always come to me if you need a man-to-man talk. Nothin’ shameful about having uh… feelings—”

“N-No. I-I-I’m having  _ stomach problems _ ,” his whole body was trembling as he scowled at Barley—but gave little indication as to why. “ _ Bad lunch _ at school. A-A-A  _ few _ of us are sick. I was texting some friends about it earlier.  _ Sorry _ . . . I-I’m okay. Be out soon,” he finished his string of lies with a sweetness he’d practiced to perfection; not making eye contact with his elder brother as he slipped into a familiar numbness for a moment.

Barley’s brow rose as Ian spoke the perfectly executed lie. And then he glanced at the curtain as Colt continued, sounding vastly relieved. “Oh! Well of course that’s all it is! Good. I mean, bein’ sick is no fun at all. But at least it’s not- Well you let me know if you need anything-” Colt stopped short, suddenly seeming to notice Barley’s clothes on the floor. After a few seconds of silence, he clucked in disapproval at the mess. “G’night kid.” 

After a quick response, the bathroom door closed and they were once more alone together. Barley looked to Ian and said, “Whew, that was close—”

Ian raised a thin finger to Barley’s bristled lips, brows pinched in thought for a moment. 

Relief washed over him as he heard Colt’s hooves clunk across the hardwood floor through the condensation-laden wall; heading downstairs and out of earshot.

“That trick with the water? _Stupid_. **So** _stupid_ ,” he whispered, replacing his index finger with his lips for a brief kiss. “If I wasn’t exhausted, and you weren’t so fucking _sexy_ , I’d _kick your ass_ right now,” he threatened with another (much deeper) kiss.

“Let’s rinse off and get the fuck  _ out of here. _ You’re  **_so lucky_ ** he was  _ tired _ and he didn’t think too hard about your  _ fucking clothes laying everywhere _ ,” Ian hissed, rolling his eyes as he was helped to a trembling stand.

Barley felt as though he’d survived a heart attack, and nodded shamefully as Ian scorned him. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, not locking the door. Leaving his clothes everywhere. Turning the water off! Maybe he could just blame Ian for being so sexy. But from the tone of his voice, Barley decided to keep that to himself. 

They dried off quickly, Barley getting dressed while Ian wrapped a towel around his waist in preparation to walk to his room. Before opening the bathroom door, Ian and Barley shared one last kiss, soft and gentle. 

To be continued.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to a_seaof_wonders, LightningCloud9000, n0r0i, HotBarley, and MissLightfoot23 for your kind feedback!

The next day was Thursday. As usual, Barley got up after Ian had left for school, and went to class on campus. The professor lectured on, and Barley gazed out the window at the trees and passing students. Ian… Ian, Ian, Ian. Once class was over, he headed over to the metal shop where his friend was. 

“Hey! Sir Lightfoot! What’s kickin?” the goblin said as he pushed up his helmet.

“Not much, just looking to make a little something. Is it cool if I use some of the supplies in here?”

“Sure,” the goblin said, “Prof doesn’t care as long as you clean up.”

“That I can surely do,” Barley promised.

At the end of the day, once classes and work were over, Barley drove from campus to New Mushroomton High, and parked illegally out front. The bell rang and students filtered out, and Barley perked up. Ian was heading his way, holding onto his backpack straps, dark hair shiny in the afternoon sun. Barley grinned.

“Hey there, little mage!”

Ian’s eyes were hyper-focused on the brash adventurer’s bristled face as a flush tinted his countenance. He nodded toward his brother wordlessly, offering a shaky greeting as an afterthought. The pastel enchanter wasted little time rounding the van, stepping inside and slamming the heavy door shut—dropping his backpack between his bony knees before offering a strained: “ _ Let’s go. _ ” 

His lips were parted; quivering breaths escaping him as he eyed the celtic ink along his sibling’s bicep, and the muscles rippling beneath as they operated the steering wheel.

Barley drove a little faster than usual, managing to get to the front of the line to exit the school lot. When he stopped for the person in front of him to turn, he glanced sideways at Ian, who quickly looked away. 

Pursing his lips as he made the turn down the road, he asked, “Soooo… everything go… okay today?”

Ian hadn’t bothered to fasten himself in, other plans for their return trip already scripted out before he’d even slid into the passenger’s seat. 

“P-Pull off at the rest area down this street,” he bossed, limber hands tightening into little fists in his lap. 

“S-Sure,” Barley said, suddenly feeling very anxious. Had something happened in school? Something must have happened. But he didn’t want to ask, not while he was driving. 

Ian tossed a heated look at his brother, swallowing densely as he studied the broad jaw and azure stubble there for a moment before admitting: 

“I-I’m not gonna wait until tonight. I want you right  _ now _ .”

By then Barley was already turning into the desolate rest area, and he jumped the curb at Ian’s words. They both fumbled to avoid being thrown around before Barley pulled into a spot, stomping hard on the brake and killing the engine. Looking at Ian now, it was far more obvious. Barley’s heart thundered in his chest. He unbuckled his seatbelt so fast that the buckle pulled back and nearly broke his window. Barley surged forward, pulling Ian in for a kiss.

The feeling of his brother’s might pulling him in, and the barbed lips devouring his own, sent the little mage into a frenzy of gropes and nibbles. 

“ _ Fuck _ , you taste so good,” he whispered, diving back in for another kiss as he guided them both into a semi-stand. “You  _ smell _ amazing, too” he added, guiding them both—through need and hunger—into the back of Guinevere the Second.

Shoving Barley into a seated position upon the handcrafted little bench along the wall, the petite youth straddled his brother’s lap and yanked the beanie from his head, tossing it carelessly against the back doors to tangle lithe fingers in the jagged down of his hair. 

“I’ve been waiting  _ all day _ for this. Tomorrow could you come see me for  _ lunch _ ? I-I don’t wanna wait this long again,” he breathed, teeth sinking into Barley’s lower lip as he stared into hazel eyes with lusty umber. “Just say  _ yes _ .”

“Y-Yes, Hell yes,” Barley stammered, his words muffled as Ian kissed through them. Barley gripped him, squeezing his thighs and little rear, and then pulling his face closer as they made out. Barley was getting hard in record time. “God, you’re so fucking sexy, Ian,” Barley groaned. “Look so good with your legs around me. So what do you want to do?”

Ian pulled back then, a deeper flush lighting his childish features as he considered his brother’s inquiry . . .

_ Honesty _ . That’s what Barley wanted. And that’s what he was going to get.

“B- _Blow_ me? I-I want your _fingers inside_ me? I-I-I don’t _care,_ I just _fucking_ **_need_** you,” he stammered, yanking his mint-colored hoodie over his head and slinging it behind him—revealing nothing beneath it but Barley’s bruised handiwork from the night prior—following it up by unfastening his jeans and reconnecting his lips with his elder’s.

The familiar artificial sweetness of soda graced his tongue as he explored the hot cavern of his brother’s mouth; nimble hands reaching to unfasten the brawny gamer’s cargo shorts as he pulled back. 

“A-And what can _ I _ do for  _ you _ ?”

“Fuck, I dunno,” Barley said honestly. “I’ll think of something.” He pushed Ian back so that he could help shove his jeans down, and then they stumbled back onto a pile of blankets. “Tell me more about how you want me to suck you off. Were you thinking about it in class?” He shrugged out of his own vest and then pulled off his band shirt. Ducking his head down, he licked and sucked at one of Ian’s nipples. “Were you hard under the desk?”

Ian immediately arched into the warm mouth on his nipples, brain wading through liquid lust as he struggled to come up with an answer to his brother’s questions. 

“I-I’ve been horny all fucking day,” the little mage croaked, willowy fingers trembling from their place tangled in his brother’s hair. “I’ve been thinking about the w-way your tongue feels o-on my cock. A-And  _ inside  _ me,” he breathed, forcing the bold adventurer’s head down as best he could toward his goal. “I-I never got to ride your face,” he reminded, gasping as bristled lips kissed their way down his flat stomach. “Can I ride it  _ tonight _ ?”

“You can sit on my face  _ right now _ , if you want,” Barley said. “I will do  _ anything _ you fucking ask me to.” He practically ripped off Ian’s shoes before he managed to remove his tight-fitting jeans. He kicked off his own shoes and removed his shorts, which were getting uncomfortable now. And as an afterthought added, “Well, anything that you can actually handle.”

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me,” Ian blurted as soon as his brother’s shorts were removed; eyeballing the massive bulge in his boxers as he wet his lips. “I just—I don’t  _ wanna _ be patient. I-I want you in me  _ so much _ ,” the wizard admitted (followed by a trademark gnaw of his lower lip). “A-A-And I wanna  _ shower  _ first, if I’m gonna sit on your face,” he pressed, a bit nervous that on some level his brother would attempt to talk him out of waiting. “What was that about doing  _ anything I asked _ ? Your  _ mouth  _ isn’t on my  _ dick  _ yet.”

Barley snorted. “Fuck. You’re right. Lie back.” He climbed over Ian, kissing his mouth before shifting and pulling Ian’s underwear down his legs. He didn’t hesitate before taking Ian’s prick into his mouth, sinking around it and lavishing it in attention. He flattened his tongue on the underside and sucked, pulling up until he only had the head between his lips, like a fresh cherry. He began bobbing his head, ears twitching at the delicious sound of Ian’s gasps and whines. 

Ian’s entire world seemed to hang on his brother’s lips in the moments that followed. Every lick, suckle and bob of his head was a debt Ian wasn’t sure he could ever fully repay. 

“I-I’m gonna  _ cum  _ if you keep going that fast,” he gasped, attempting to tug at Barley’s hair to coax him off. “I-I-I don’t wanna finish already,” Ian whimpered, breathing ragged as he found himself unable to keep from bucking into the gamer’s hungry mouth. 

A miserable groan vibrated against Ian’s prick. Barley slowed his rhythm and pulled off, spit dripping onto Ian’s hip before Barley swiped the back of his hand over his chin. “Sorry, I just get excited. So ah, you wanted some of this too?” He slid a finger along the cleft of Ian’s ass. “I’d love to, but I er, still don’t have any lube in here. I could still use my tongue if you want.”

“I-In my bag!” Ian piped, pointing a thin finger toward the passenger’s seat of the van where he’d left his backpack on the floorboard. “There’s lube in there,” he informed, arching into his sibling’s mouth as he slid off with a pop.

Watching Barley stoop (and creep) over to the front of the van to snatch his bookbag, he soon returned to kneel between Ian’s spindly legs. 

“Front pocket,” the conjurer breathed, watching his sibling unzip and shuffle through his parcel to retrieve a half-used bottle of flavored lube. “O-Okay,  _ hurry _ . Fill me up.”

“Ffff…” Barley trailed off as he looked at the bottle. “Guess you were thinking about this when you packed your bag this morning, huh?” He leaned in to give Ian a quick kiss, loving the darkening color in his cheeks. He slicked his fingers and settled down, pressing one into Ian’s warm entrance. 

A pang of guilt washed over the svelte teen at his brother’s innocent assumption, but moments later—with a large finger pressing into him—that guilt was lost to the familiar sensation of burning that melded into fullness, and fullness that gave way to pleasure. 

The sound that escaped Ian was loud and unashamed. They weren’t at home, and frankly, he couldn’t say he cared who found them. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Ian croaked, all at once arching away and bucking into the invading finger. “M- **_More_ ** .  _ Right now _ ,” he bossed, struggling to slow his breathing as Barley unwittingly mashed against his prostate. “A-A-And  _ mouth _ .  **Suck** ,” he tried, unable to form a proper sentence as heat flooded his body and he melted onto his brother’s intrusion.

Barley assented immediately, pushing a second finger in beside the first. The lubricant smelled sweet and he drizzled some more onto Ian’s prick and watched it drip to the base. A moment later he closed his mouth around him. Barley controlled his thrusts this time, slow and steadily fingering him as his lips matched the pace. His cock ached inside his damp boxers as he felt Ian’s insides. Every now and then the smaller elf would tense and clench around him, and Barley would suck him harder in turn.

“ _ O-Oh fuck _ ,” Ian gasped, the sound of his boyish voice flooding the back of his brother’s handmade steed as he found himself digging his nails into Quest Master’s scalp. “I-I-I  _ can’t _ —” he practically sobbed; watery eyes watching the ceiling sightlessly as his mind and body submitted to the raw influence of passion. 

His entire form was merely a semisolid in his elder’s hands. He wanted to ponder on the last time he’d felt this way, but his brain misfired time and again. 

“ _I-I_ ,” he tried, the tears welling in his eyes cascading down his cheekbones to pool in the shell of his ears. “ ** _Stop_** —Just **_fuck_** me,” he pleaded. “I-I-I _don’t_ _care_ anymore, just **_do it_**.”

Barley was prepared this time. It seemed that Ian was going to beg to be fucked every time they got intimate, and Barley knew he’d have to get used to resisting. Even if he was aching to bury himself up to Ian’s naval. So he ignored the pleas, instead forcing a third finger inside of him.

White noise flooded Ian’s ears upon Barley’s third finger sliding inside him. Time had slowed to a swift cease sometime ago, but the three fingers thudding against his prostate (and the burning stretch at his entrance) were enough to cause him to lose himself in his own personal chaos. 

He could feel himself being stretched beyond his limits. 

There was pain, but there was also pleasure. Too much pleasure to properly register the pain, perhaps. His entrance had already been abused enough last night. But still, he found himself senselessly begging for more. 

Begging for  _ anything _ . 

“O-One more,” he tried; the mouth greedily slurping at his hardness pausing briefly at his request. “I-I just want you. I don’t wanna  _ wait _ .”

Barley pulled off of Ian again. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth, one eyebrow rising as he gave Ian a warning look. “I’m not sure if it occurred to you, but resisting the urge to give in to you is not exactly fun for me. So believe me when I say, if you ask me to fuck you one more time, I’m going to stop sucking your dick. Okay?!” Barley crooked the fingers inside of Ian for emphasis.

Ian’s eyes watered anew at the fingers twisting inside him; pressing into an area that wasn’t all that comfortable for him, but the unfamiliar experience of being stretched to his limit had utterly blown his mind. 

The frail magus audibly whined at the removal of his brother’s mouth, and the threat that followed caused his bleary doe-eyes to round in panic; his thoroughly abused lower lip wobbling as he tried to form a proper argument or an excuse. 

But Barley’s fingers held—in equal measure—the level of hunger, frustration and malice as his molten-amber eyes. 

And so, Ian nodded numbly. Fresh tears—the byproduct of raw intensity—slipped down freckled cheeks as he offered a simple, “Y-Yes, Sir.”

Barley’s determined expression broke into momentary shock as Ian addressed him. He relaxed his fingers and went down on him again, if only to hide the new expression threatening his features. He had never thought of himself as the kind of guy who’d like to be called, ‘sir’ in bed, but here he was grinding his dick against the blankets beneath him and trying not to think about why. Unconsciously he began to speed up, his mouth drenched in lube and spit and his fingers pumping harder into Ian’s body. He needed Ian to come soon, because if for whatever reason Ian  _ did _ beg him again, Barley would be tempted to give in.

Once again, Ian’s mind blanked; any thoughts of his own lost to an inundation of white-hot heat pooling in his belly. His blunt nails clawed at the flooring as he arched into his brother’s mouth, unable to lift his arms to grasp at the bigger man’s hair any longer due to sheer fatigue. 

However, he couldn’t stop himself from repeating his suggestion from last night as his legs shook in their place upon Barley’s broad shoulders. 

“ _ Please just the tip _ ,” he blurted out, the words hardly registering to his own ears as a proper language; finding his lips incapable of forming anything more than the wanton ramblings of a boy on the very edge of his orgasm. 

Barley  _ absolutely _ heard the plea, and was overcome with sheer, painful, sexual frustration. There could be no greater torture than the thought of managing to fit the tip of his dick into Ian without being able to push in deeper. His head lifted quickly, and with a pop, Ian’s prick was left exposed to the empty air. Barley gritted his teeth again, meeting Ian’s eye. 

“I cannot believe you,” he barked. As he spoke, he unconsciously began to pump his fingers into Ian with a little more force. “I am trying SO HARD not to break you in half, and you are just sitting there torturing me with this endless stream of consent to do something that is DEFINITELY going to keep you from  _ sitting _ tomorrow!” Barley looked at the ceiling of the van as if he were pleading with the heavens to knock some sense into his little brother. Meanwhile the muscles in his arm tensed as he fingered him more roughly, completely distracted by his own ranting. “I mean, I am trying so hard to be good when I literally have never been this horny in my entire life!”

The slight hysteria in his sibling’s strained voice, as well as the increased speed and pressure of the fingers inside him, had Ian releasing sounds he wasn’t sure he’d be able to replicate even if he tried. 

“ _ B-Bar— _ ” was the only warning the older Lightfoot was given before Ian’s climax was shooting onto his own face and chest. 

His orgasm was mostly soundless as his brother’s fingers mercilessly pounded against his sweet spot, and the expression of pained anger on Barley’s face burned itself into his mind. 

For a few moments, the fragile teen wondered if his orgasm would ever end; Ian’s velveteen insides tightening around the gamer’s toughened fingers as his tiny body trembled . . . 

And then, he slumped lifelessly into the pile of blankets beneath him. He could just scarcely draw full breaths, but he desperately gasped for air. 

“S- _ Stop _ ,” he wheezed, limply begging for the fingers inside him to be removed. “T-Too much.”

Barley slowed to a stop and then eased his fingers out. He was at a loss for words. Having been so caught up in his own tirade, Ian’s finish had completely caught him off guard. “I um… I was trying to teach you a lesson there,” he said blankly. “I guess uh… I guess you’re not feeling as dissatisfied as I’d intended.”

Ian arched away from the feeling of emptiness, his lithe body trembling as his brother’s words wracked against the dense fog of his empty mind. 

“ _ Shut up _ ,” he panted, heavy chocolate eyes honing-in on Barley’s luminous caramel. “C-Cum in my mouth—or something,” came Ian’s next demand; thin elbows attempting to prop himself up to accept whatever his elder had to offer. “Lemme  _ help _ .”

In response to Ian’s words, Barley blew air from between his lips. He’d never needed to come so badly before. He helped Ian sit up and knelt in front of him, sliding his boxers down. A moment later Ian was taking him, his tight throat stretching to fit Barley’s full length. 

“God, I can’t even…” Barley trailed off, speaking nonsense at the incredible feeling. Ian was holding onto his hips with trembling hands, most of him being held up by Barley where he gripped Ian’s hair and shoulder. Slow rocking of his hips quickly sped up. He wanted to make this quick and let Ian rest. Ian began to gag just as Barley buckled forward, riding through an orgasm. 

Soon enough they had separated, Barley helping Ian lie back before he joined him. His hair was damp and the back of the van smelled like cum and his own sweat. “Sorry it’s kinda gross back here,” he said. “I’ll clean it up soon.”

Quivering lips tugged into an awkward smile as Ian was laid back; belly full and body thoroughly exhausted. 

“I kinda  _ like  _ it,” he chuckled meekly, pressing a chaste kiss into his brother’s bristled cheek. “Reminds me of  _ you _ ,” he shrugged, knowing his statement wasn’t necessarily flattering, but it had been intended as an endearment. “Thanks for  _ helping _ me, Barley,” Ian whispered, brows furrowing as he came down off of his sex-driven high. “S-Sorry I made you mad.”

Barley smirked, twisting one of Ian's curls around his finger. "I wasn't that mad. I just… I don't want you to feel like I don't want the same thing. I just want it to be good for  _ both _ of us. And what's that about 'helping you'? You sound like I'm doing you a favor." Barley leaned in and gave Ian a kiss on the neck.

Full brows quirked at this; a trademark nervous grin lighting Ian’s swollen lips as he considered his brother’s words—a little shiver running through him as a bristled mouth graced his sweat-dampened neck. 

“You  _ were _ ,” he breathed, catching the bigger man’s eyes once he’d pulled away. “I-I really needed you, and you  _ helped _ me . . . You  _ always _ help me when I need you, Barley. A-And I don’t thank you as often as I  _ should _ ,” he mused, fawn-like gaze flitting here and there across his sibling’s ruggedly handsome features . . . “So,  _ thanks _ , man. Thanks for today. And—y’know—thanks for  _ everything _ . 

Tempering his praise, he leaned in for a second kiss; hoping to absolve any awkwardness or silence that could have fallen between them.

As Ian pulled away, Barley gazed at him affectionately. Helping Ian, being there for him, was something that had always come second nature to him. He felt like being thanked for that was being thanked for Barley just being himself. It was an odd sort of feeling, but he didn’t want to make anything of it.

“Well,” he said, “I know you would always be there for me.” And then suddenly Barley’s eyes widened. “Oh, I have something for you! Hold on…” He sat up, tugged up his boxers and moved to the front of the van to sift through his things.

The smile that slipped across Ian’s face was more gentle than the first. 

Barley’s words always held their own sort of power over him. His elder had a way of making everything seem . . .  _ simple _ . And that was a beautiful thing, to someone whose first-nature was to overcomplicate. 

Eyes of axinite followed his companion and protector as he made his way back; something clutched in Barley’s calloused hand as he took a seat before him in their sweat-dampened nest of blankets. 

“F-For  _ me _ ? What  _ is _ it?”

“Open it,” Barley said, offering him the little brown box. 

Ian accepted it and opened the lid, finding a nest of tissue paper with a small, metal heart in the center. It was resting on a swirl of silvery chain, and when Ian lifted it out, he discovered it was a necklace. The heart itself was on the crude side, with the texture of hammered metal. 

“I um… I made the heart,” Barley said, sounding a little embarrassed. “I tried making a chain but it was a disaster, so I ah, hah… I had to get a chain from the store. A-And you don’t have to wear it! I just felt like... I wanted you to have something. Something you could actually hold to remind you that erm…” Barley scratched the back of his neck. “It’s like, symbolism? You’ve got my heart, and nobody else does. That kinda thing.” 

Ian’s  _ own  _ heart slowed and wavered in his chest at the sight of his brother’s gift; blameless eyes slowly misting as he met the bashful mead of Barley’s stare. A scarlet flush had taken the strapping adventurer by storm—the young mage finding he wouldn’t quite hold his gaze—but Ian studied him for a few wordless moments regardless. 

“I-I don’t— _ Barley _ . . .” he tried, his slender (mildly sore) throat tightening as he labored to swallow his emotions. “This is  _ great _ , Barley,” he managed, a little crack in his voice as he found himself losing grip on a single tear. 

A soft thumb gently traced the hammered metal between his fingers as he took-in a few hushed sniffles; confectioner’s-chocolate reaching for flustered honey once more. 

“I-I  _ love _ you. You  _ know _ that, right?” he inquired, placing the box onto the floor, and fastening the delicate chain around his bruising neck. “How does it look,” he smiled, and now it was his turn to flush.

Barley had felt instant alarm as Ian began to tear up, not having expected such a response. But he tried not to panic, and smiled when Ian asked. He studied Ian,  _ who was already so pretty every moment of the day _ , now sitting here wearing nothing but his socks and the necklace. “You look… I mean,  _ it _ looks beautiful.” Leaning closer, Barley wrapped his arms around Ian and lifted him into his lap, kissing his mouth gently. 

Those little lifts always caused Ian to squeak. 

For some reason, he never expected to be lifted so easily, despite knowing his brother’s strength. But the kiss that followed held a tenderness he hadn’t anticipated.

Barley’s kisses held  _ so much  _ within them: Power, raw passion, complete and utter devotion . . . 

“I-If we don’t stop . . . I’ll get excited again,” Ian breathed after breaking their kiss. “A-And mom’s gonna worry if we don’t come home soon,” he smiled, brows furrowing in apology. “A-A-And I love you,  _ so much _ , but I wanna take a shower,” he finished, placing a swift peck upon Barley’s barbed jaw. 

Grinning, Barley said, “Fine, fine. Let’s get you home.”

They got dressed and headed home, bringing takeout with them to explain the delay. The evening seemed to last forever. Barley lied on his bed, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping up on him as he listened for his mom and Colt to go to bed. He listened as Ian turned on the shower, and then went upstairs to join him. 

This time, the shower was more playful than erotic, the two of them exchanging glances as they soaped up and rinsed off. Ian even agreed to let Barley shampoo his hair when he asked. But Barley was finally given the boot when Ian wanted to shave, saying that he didn’t want Barley looming over him the whole time. After toweling off, Barley headed for Ian’s room to wait for him, where he drifted off long before Ian joined him. 

~*~

The next morning Barley woke up alone in Ian’s bed, with a text message that gently teased him for falling asleep. Barley deeply regretted it, having missed out on their plans for Ian to sit on his face. With that thought, Barley had to jerk off before managing to function at all. 

After doing some laundry and going to class, Barley headed back to the high school to meet Ian for lunch, as he’d promised. He picked up sandwiches at the Deli before heading over, and parked out front. The midday bell rang and a few seniors walked outside, heading to their cars to hit the local fast food places. Barley grinned when he saw Ian, long legs carrying him down the steps. He was free of his backpack now, his hands stuffed into his pockets instead.

Five minutes later they were parked at the same empty rest stop, making out in the back on a pile of freshly laundered blankets. 

“I want to do what we planned last night,” Barley said. Ian started to object but Barley cut him off. “Please! You’re clean enough, come on. Please?”

Ian flushed up to his eyebrows at his brother’s pleas, feeling something stir in his core at the sudden desperation laid before him. 

He couldn’t remember his elder begging for anything in his entire life. Barley Lightfoot wasn’t a  _ forceful _ man by  _ any _ means. But he was likeable—if not a bit menacing—and people generally complied with his wishes. 

But  _ this _ ? 

This was . . .  _ fun _ .

The gifted youth felt a devious little smirk scrawl across his full lips; his brother’s lust-clouded, hazel puppy-dog eyes peering back at him in a way that made him appear both adorable and pitiable. 

“I-I’m  _ thinking _ ,” Ian lied, doe-eyes teetering here and there as he feigned consideration. “M-Maybe if you ask me more  _ nicely _ ?”

Barley snorted, but looked thrilled. He steeled himself and then looked Ian in the eyes. With a low and careful voice, he asked, “Sir Iandore Lightfoot, would you  _ please _ do me the greatest honor of shedding your fine linens, and sitting astride my face, so that I may please you to the best of my ability?”

Ian couldn’t help the giggle that burst forth; frail hands reaching to cover his face in second-hand embarrassment as he groaned in distaste. 

“I-I think a few more ‘ _ please’s _ would have done it, man,” he smiled, craning his neck to capture his brother’s lips in a loving kiss. “A-And I guess if you wanna do it so much . . .  _ Right now,” _ he paused to chew his lower lip. “I-I mean— _ Yeah _ . Okay,” he grinned sheepishly, shrugging as he reached to unbutton his jeans and toe-off his sneakers. “W-Want me to do something for  _ you _ ?”

“Nah,” Barley said casually, “I just really wanna jerk off while eating you out.” He was already stripping off his clothes and tossing them aside. Ian was nearly undressed as well as he asked, “Can you touch yourself while I do it?”

A quirked brow followed a little pause, and Ian was eying his sibling’s manhood skeptically. 

“A-Are you  _ sure _ ?” he pressed, eyes darkening as he took in the fullness of his brother’s body. 

_ So much power in one place. _

“What if— _ Yeah _ . I-I don’t mind,” he intended to smile, but licked his lips instead; resting on his knees in the pile of fresh blankets and waiting for his sibling to guide him into his preferred position. 

Barley settled down on his back and Ian climbed over him, little hands on Barley’s chest as he lifted a leg over his head. Barley had a gorgeous view of the back of Ian’s slender thighs that curved into his petite rear end, and his torso twisted in order to glance back at him. Barley tilted his head so that Ian could see him wink, before turning his attention down again. His wide hands slid up the expanse of Ian’s legs before parting his cheeks, exposing the pink entrance. 

A groan slid from Barley’s throat as he pulled Ian farther down, his soft cheeks pressing onto Barley’s face as he licked Ian’s hole.

The warm embrace of his elder’s greedy mouth instantly sent Ian’s breath into an audible hitch, his lean fingers curling into the semi-solid strength of Barley’s chest as he was tasted and explored. 

“I-I don’t—Do I  _ taste  _ okay? I-I-I’m sorry. If I’d known—” the feeling of something slick and firm entering him broke his thoughts; his thighs already shaking from the intrusion. “ _ O-Oh my god _ ,” he whimpered, finding himself willingly taking a timid seat against the quester’s bristled face as his little body heated up. 

Barley growled this time, gripping Ian’s thighs and continuing to lick and tongue-fuck Ian. His brother’s narrow hips rose a little and Barley took a breath before he sunk down again, a whimper escaping him. Barley’s dick twitched in response, reminding him of its neglect. Releasing one of Ian’s thighs, Barley reached down and clumsily stroked himself, urging precum to leak from the tip. Ian continued to rock his hips and whimper, the noises affecting Barley as much as the feeling of the warm entrance on his mouth. 

As Barley breathed, he inhaled the faint musky scent of Ian’s body, a little fresh sweat that reminded him of summer nights. One evening in particular when the air condition had failed, and the two of them laid together on the living room floor, in the line of fire of a strong fan. Ian had smelled the same. He’d been fifteen then, and Barley had been on the cusp of manhood. Back then he’d never given Ian a thought in that direction, but something about his scent had lingered in Barley’s memory. 

The svelte mage’s clouded mind was beginning to blank entirely as he worked himself into a rhythm; but clarity came screaming back as he watched his sibling begin to stroke himself. 

His gaping mouth watered at the vision—Barley’s toughened fingers sliding along the precum slicked mass of his pierced manhood—and all Ian wanted in that moment was to replace those fingers with his mouth or his entrance. 

However, the vision also reminded him to stroke himself in-time with Barley; a single soft hand balancing the remainder of his weight against his brother’s chest (mindful not to snag any hair lingering there). 

Ian wanted to say something.  _ Anything  _ would have done, really. But all he could do was whimper, gasp, and moan. Nothing else in the world mattered to him but the tongue inside him, and the drooling erection in his brother’s fist. 

“I-I’m just—I’m gonna miss this class,  _ okay _ ? D-Don’t rush.”

With that, he gave into impulse at last—leaning foward to bat away at the hand on Barley’s cock before taking it into his own—testing the weight in his hand (with a little groan of the word  _ ‘fuck’ _ ) as he took the salty head into his hungry mouth.

“Mmph- oh  _ fffff _ ,” Barley gasped. Ian’s ass had lifted just as his hot mouth sunk down around him. Barley felt dazed, shaking off the fog after a moment. Ian’s new position had his rear in the air and his cute prick hanging there for the taking, and Barley held it by the base and began to suck him as well. This time when Ian moaned, Barley could  _ feel _ it. He sped up, spurred on by the sounds that he was eliciting from Ian. 

Of all the possibilities his greed could have warranted; a blowjob wasn’t something Iandore had ever considered. 

The throaty groan he’d released around the fabler’s oversized hardness had the older man increasing his speed and—likely involuntarily—bucking into the spellcaster’s thoroughly abused throat. 

It was all too much: Too much pleasure at once. Too many things going on. 

Ian found himself losing grip on his load; releasing into Barley’s eager mouth without any warning as he rode his orgasm with a heavy groan around the manhood between his lips. And it was there that his tongue was met with the first wave of Barley’s release in return.

Ropes of salty (slightly bitter) heat flooded the sun-flecked mage’s throat—each spurt met with an eager swallow . . . 

And then they slumped; Barley’s entire mass going limp beneath Iandore, who collapsed along with him by default. Ever the greedy lover, the younger Lightfoot wantonly licked the last few beads of his elder’s cum from the convulsing head of his cock, before replacing his licks with a gentle kiss.

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of this stuff,” he chuckled, face heating up as he realized his admittance was voiced aloud. “I-It’s really good,” he added, as though it would somehow strengthen his case. 

With this, he made his way back to the top of the blanket nest to lay alongside his brother, collapsing against his sticky chest with a contented little sigh.

It was Barley’s embarrassment that roused him out of utter exhaustion. He rubbed his face, glancing at Ian from between two fingers. “How can you say stuff like that?” He dropped his hands, exposing a very flushed smile.

Ian’s flush deepened as he considered, having never really given it much thought. 

“I-I dunno,” he murmured, pouting for a moment as he studied the rise and fall of his sibling’s chest. “I’m just being  _ honest  _ with you, I guess,” he stated shyly, a little shrug offered as he rested his head against the wanderer’s shoulder. “That was  _ amazing _ , Barley . . . Sorry I didn’t warn you—when I was cumming . . . Hope it wasn’t a lot.” 

Dense brows furrowed sympathetically as a dusky gaze traced the patterns in Guinevere’s back curtains. 

“Want me to take the day off so we can do this all day?”

Barley chuckled. “You’re a grown-ass man now. It’s up to you if you want to go back to school or not. But you’re gonna have to have mercy on me if you don’t. You’ve seriously worn me out over the last two days.” He lazily stroked his fingers through Ian’s hair, forgetting that he was disturbing the delicate balance of the curls. “We could see a matinee or something. After you’ve eaten?”

Ian’s smile faltered slowly throughout Barley’s comments, until it had fallen completely from his freckled face; replaced instead by the tucking of his lower lip between his teeth. 

“I think I had plenty to eat  _ just now _ , thanks,” he stated plainly, free of any sensuality as he pulled away from his brother and began fumbling for his clothes. “A- _ Actually _ , didn’t you have something going on tonight? You should be writing  _ campaigns _ today, right? I-If you  _ want _ , I can have Sadie or Jenny give me a ride home, or I could take the bus,” he rambled, forcing a dry smile his brother’s way as he toweled off his private bits with a few discarded shop-towels and tugged his clothing on. 

As soon as Ian started speaking, Barley knew something was wrong. Ian was putting his clothes on in record time, and the alarm was sounding. Barley scrambled to pull on his underwear and shorts just as Ian offered to take the bus.

“Hey, hey, hey, what happened? What’s wrong?” Barley recoiled at the frigid look Ian shot over his shoulder, not sure if it had been intentional. “Was it the food comment? It’s just, I brought sandwiches. I uh… I’m sorry if I’ve been nagging you. And don’t be silly, I’m not going to leave you to take the bus today.”

Ian dropped himself into the passenger’s seat, coiling his arms around his lissome frame before casting an uninspired glance toward his brother, waiting until he finished his inquiry. 

“I’m fine,” he offered, umber eyes stoic as they caught amber for a moment. “I-I’ve just gotta get back to school,” he shrugged, reaching up to adjust the delicate chain around his slender neck before peering out the windshield and into the lush greenery of the park. “Can you put on your clothes so I don’t miss the next class, man?” 

Barley was starting to put on his shirt when Ian finished speaking. He paused and pulled it off again, climbing shirtless into the driver’s seat. “You know, I don’t think I will,” he said, defiantly dropping his shirt on the floor between them. “What is with you? Three minutes ago you were ready to skip on the rest of the day. You’re obviously mad at me, so you could at least tell me what I said. Was it about eating lunch?”

“Why is everything about _food_ with you?” Ian snapped, dense brows falling into a scowl as he struggled not to watch the muscles ripple in his brother’s arms. “I offered to spend the day with you, a-and you’re _tired_ of me already? Just—You haven’t even _fucked_ _me_ yet, Barley,” Ian broke for a gesture of his wiry arms, “Y-You **_won’t_** , even. A-A-And you’d rather go see a _movie_? **_Seriously_**? I get it. You have other things to do. I hear you, man. I’m out of your hair. Now take me back to class.”

Barley’s jaw dropped. But when he spoke, He didn’t yell. His tone was carefully neutral. “How could you possibly think that I’m tired of you? We  _ just _ messed around, and we did like twelve hours ago too. I’m not bored, my dick needs a break! I’m only one guy!” He watched Ian, who was still pouting, and continued, “And can you think about what you just said? You’re saying you’d take the day off to screw around with me, but you wouldn’t take off for us to spend time together. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Ian balked, then faltered; uncertain of how best to respond to his brother’s admittance. 

A little flush crept across his cheeks as he found himself disenfranchised. 

“You’re . . . just one guy,” he muttered to himself, his flush melding into an expression that looked a touch haunted. “O-Okay.  _ Yeah  _ . . . You’re right.  _ You’re just one guy _ . I’m sorry. Let’s just . . . stop for a while,” he trailed off, eyes downcast as he turned to buckle himself in. “I-I’m gonna be  _ late _ , though. Can I just . . .  _ I need to go _ .”

Wordlessly Barley pulled on his shirt and started the engine. It was a short drive back, but it was still enough for Barley to stew on what had just happened. He really had no idea how a nice time together had suddenly backflipped, and he was starting to feel like it  _ wasn’t _ his fault. He pulled up to the front of the school and stopped. “Don’t take the bus,” he said mildly. “I’ll be here.”

Ian cast a temperate glance along his brother’s solid form, finding pools of gold peering back at him with an unreadable expression. Following an inaudible sigh, the little mage swung his legs toward his sibling, taking a half-stand and closing the space between them for one tender kiss—and then another. 

“ _ I love you _ ,” he mumbled, chewing his lip as he loomed over his elder for a moment, then turned to slide back across his seat and exit the van. “See ya,” he called, voice feigning optimism as he offered a tiny smile and shut the passenger door to bounce up a cascade of stairs and out of sight.

~*~

It was a good thing that Barley had already completed the campaign plans, because he couldn’t think about anything but Ian for the rest of the day. He had that moment ingrained in the front of his mind, Ian kissing him right in front of the high school and saying the three little words he was quickly becoming addicted to. 

Eventually it was time to pick up Ian from school. They were cautiously civil with one another, awkward smiles and small talk. At home they had dinner with Laurel and Colt, before Barley headed out. He and Ian exchanged a warm look that had Barley feeling a little better. 

Barley’s thoughts were miles away when he picked up Lily. They were halfway there when she said, “You’ve been awfully quiet.” 

“Huh? Have I?”

“Yeah. I mean, like… this whole week. I thought you might text just to chat or whatever.”

“Sorry, I guess I’ve been busy.”

Lily was quiet for a while when she suddenly leaned over to pick up something on the floor between them. “What’s this?”

Barley glanced sideways and saw the little box that had once contained the necklace for Ian. He said, “It’s a gift box.”

“It’s a gift box for _jewelry_ ,” Lily corrected. “Why is this here? Are you seeing someone else?” Barley gave her a surprised look and she corrected, “I-I mean, you’re seeing someone?”

It took a moment for Barley to answer. He said, “Yeah I am, actually. He’s pretty great.” And then a small smile curled the corners of Barley’s mouth. “Taught me how to kiss.”

Lily said nothing for a while. When they’d nearly reached the house, she said, “What was in the box? A necklace?”

“Mm hmm.” 

“Did…  _ he _ like it?”

“I think so.” Barley parked and killed the engine, and looked at Lily with a smile. “I think this is okay, with us being friends. It’s cool that we can just talk about this, no hard feelings.”

Lily wore the expression of someone who’d tasted something nasty. “Yeah,” she said flatly. 

With that, Barley climbed out of the car, opening the door for her as they went inside.

~*~

When their Quests of Yore campaign was due for a recess, the group got up for drink refills and bathroom breaks. Barley went upstairs just to stretch his legs, and sat down on the living room sofa. It was a deal more comfortable than the folding chairs in the basement. He turned as a girl walked by, a curvy cyclops who was immersed in something on her phone. 

“Clarissa!”

She looked up, flipping back her long purple hair. “Barley! Hey!”

“I haven’t seen you around for a while.”

She leaned against the couch adjacent to his. “Yeah, I’ve been at cheerleading practice every time you guys have a game night. I like, never see my brother these days. But we’re done for the season, so here I am.”

“Cool, cool,” Barley said. “Everything good with you? The boys at school treating you right?”

She snorted, rolling her heavily-mascara’d eye. “Hah, oh yeah. They’re a real classy bunch at Mushroomton.” 

Barley’s smile faded. “Hey, um… Do you… do you happen to see my brother often? Ian?”

Clarissa stared blankly. “Sometimes, I guess? We don’t have any classes together.”

Barley nodded. “I just… Well don’t say anything, but I think he’s being picked on, you know? Singled out by some of the guys in there. Have you seen anything going on?”

Clarissa’s brow rose. “Not in school, no. But like, that kinda surprises me. He’s pretty popular at parties. Not like the center of attention, but he’s always got a dude or two hanging on him in the corner somewhere.”

Barley bristled, immediately sure that these were the guys that had been harassing Ian. After all, Ian had said that things happened outside of school. “Do you remember who they were? Any specifics?”

The cyclops’s eye narrowed. “Look I… I don’t know, sometimes I was drinking, so I’m not sure. Why don’t I show you some party pics? I think I saw Ian in one or two.” She moved and dropped down in the seat beside Barley, and opened Pixiegram. Sighing, she said, “There’s a lot of pictures. Let’s see…”

Barley waited, teeth gritted as he steeled himself for some answers. He was nervous too, not really ready to see Ian being cornered, some jock looming over him. His heart pounded. 

“Hey Barley, we’re getting started,” one of his friends said from the top of the stairs to the basement.

Barley looked up at him, brows drawn together. “Sorry, can you give me a few minutes?”

His friend looked surprised. “Oh, sure. No problem. We’ll be down there.”

Clarissa continued to swipe through photos. Most of them were of her friends, drinking and having a good time. There seemed to be a million of them. “Ooh, here,” she stopped, pointing to the corner of a photo. The photograph showed her in a hot tub with some other girls, with people dancing in the yard. Obscured by the dark was a trio of people standing near the fence. She zoomed in, and Barley saw that it was Ian, laughing and accidentally spilling his drink on the grass. On either side of him stood a pair of men who looked a little too old for a high school party, and far too rough to be associating with his little brother. Barley looked again at Ian’ who was very clearly enjoying himself, those wide puppy eyes looking up at one of the men through long lashes. 

“I mean, he looks like he’s having fun to me,” Clarissa said, unintentionally rubbing salt in the wound. Barley already didn’t know how to feel about this. He waited while she continued to swipe. The new photos were in a different house, and she stopped at a selfie with her and another girl in the kitchen, making blended drinks. In the doorway to the living room Barley could see the back of a couch. They were partially obscured, but Barley could see Ian sitting on top of a bigger guy, making out with him. His slender fingers were tightly woven into the guy’s hair, pulling him closer. “I don’t know who that is,” she said. “I think he’s from another school.”

“Mm,” Barley grunted. He watched as she flipped through more photos. At another party, a group of people were playing some dice game on the floor. And in the corner, Ian was sitting in a burly guy’s lap as they watched somebody toss the dice. Barley froze, recognizing the guy immediately. It was Jay, Barley’s  _ own friend _ . He had gone to half a dozen metal concerts with Jay. The long-haired rocker had slipped his hand around Ian’s waist, and they were both grinning. 

Barley stood, flattening out the front of his t-shirt nervously. He glanced back at Clarissa, who looked at him sympathetically. “Sorry, Barley. Ian is kind of a slut. But at least it’s not bullying, right?”

“R-Right,” Barley said, feeling dizzy. He went to the top of the stairs. “Max?”

Max appeared. “Hey, you ready?”

“I uhm, I gotta go. I’m not feeling too hot.”

“Oh wow, sorry man. Want me to take Lily home after?”

“Yeah, thanks…” 

Barley said a hasty goodbye to Clarissa and headed out. He drove home numbly, and parked out front. But he didn’t go inside. Instead he sat there, leaning his head against the backrest. He still believed that Ian was getting bothered by some guys. He didn’t think that Ian had been lying to him at the picnic in the woods. 

But all of this? He didn’t know what to think. Ian had a whole life that he hadn’t been aware of. Ian was… promiscuous. He swallowed, his face reddening as he thought about the lube and condoms in Ian’s bag. He realized that Ian probably just had them in his bag, that he hadn’t brought them with any specific intent. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling very stupid. 

Disjointed thoughts started coming together in Barley’s mind, but they didn’t formulate anything that made sense. It was just… something. Ian’s shredded self-confidence, his anger earlier today over Barley not wanting to fool around anymore. And the first time they had kissed, and Ian had wanted Barley to fuck him. There was something bad going on. He didn’t have a word for it. But he felt sure that agreeing to become intimate with Ian had been a mistake. 

He rubbed his face. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck…” 

Guilt tore at his insides. Ian needed him, and Barley had taken advantage of him. Barley had broken a sacred trust between siblings. He felt sick, thinking about all the things he’d let Ian do. “Fuck,” he breathed, furiously wiping away tears as they spilled through his eyelashes. “You fucking creep,” he whispered to himself.

Inside, flourished ears perked at the familiar sound of a slightly-laboring engine pulling into the driveway; full brows drawn together in confusion as Ian set aside his homework and reached for his phone. 

‘No new messages’, it claimed; but Ian knew the rugged hum of his brother’s handcrafted steed better than  _ anyone _ . There was no other vehicle that sounded like it in the entire neighborhood . . .

He waited a few moments—listening for the sound of the front door to open—but when it never came, he reached for his phone and opened his messages.

_ ‘Ian: Did you forget something? Want me to bring it out to you?’ _

Barley got it together when he saw the text appear from Ian. Quickly he replied.

‘ _ Barley: No thanks I’m fine _ .’

He set down his phone and rubbed his mouth, brows furrowed. He didn’t know how to deal with this.

Ian’s expression dulled; the tone of Barley’s text reading as off-color to him as he quickly typed out his reply:

_ ‘Ian: Well then why are you just sitting in the driveway with the engine on? Come inside?’ _

‘ _ Barley: Okay. Coming in _ .’

Barley got out of the van, but couldn’t bring himself to go inside. He paced around the front lawn and moved back to Guinevere II, leaning against it. The night air did little to help, but he was afraid that going inside would suffocate him.

Five minutes came and went, and Iandore still hadn’t heard his sibling cross the threshold of their suburban home; so he slid out of bed, slipping on a pair of dolphin-shorts and adjusted his brother’s oversized shirt upon his nimble frame. The journey downstairs was met with little inquiry from their mother, and with a prepackaged lie, Ian was slipping out and into the evening to meet his elder—

Standing outside his van, pacing back and forth.

Ian’s eyes softened at the sight; weightless footsteps padding up to the gamer, but keeping a hesitant distance. 

“ _ Barley _ ?” he called, brows pinched in concern as he attempted to catch his brother’s gaze. “What’s . . . What’s going on?”

Leaning against the van, Barley put his hands in his pockets. He looked at Ian like something beloved he had already lost. He bit his lip, swallowing down his feelings. He said, “I uhm, I ran into Clarissa at Max’s house tonight. She… she said you two have attended a lot of the same parties..”

The look in Barley’s eyes made Ian’s blood run cold, but the name that followed brought a nervous chuckle bubbling forth. 

“ _ Clarissa _ ?” he parroted with jest, crossing his arms around himself and shrugging. “ _ Okay _ ?” he offered incredulously, pressing his elder to continue. “We barely know each other—” and then a thought struck him. “I-Is she  _ okay _ ? Did something  _ happen _ to her?”

“No, she’s fine,” Barley said quickly. “It’s just… I guess I didn’t realize you were so into the party scene, that you have been spending time with so many guys… outside of the ones who’ve been bothering you, I mean. And she showed me all of these photos and I just… you with these men, these older, rough looking guys. Even Jay,  _ my _ friend! I just looked at all of these guys and thought, none of them are good enough for you! And then I thought about myself, and who am I compared to them? I’m no better! I’m no closer to your age, I’m not an academic type, I’m not even-” Barley’s eyes were glassy now and he angrily scrubbed at one. “You need a brother, not another fuck boy. And I… I took advantage of you! I should have been the brother you needed! I should have figured out about these guys sooner, I should have done something!”

Barley’s monologue had stolen the pulse from Iandore’s veins.

At first, he wanted to be angry. He wanted to ask what business it was of Barley’s, who he was seeing before they were together. 

But as he continued, Ian realized: It wasn’t about that. 

This wasn’t about  _ jealousy _ . This wasn’t about  _ purity _ . 

This was about a man who felt as though he’d failed to protect the thing he cared about the most; sand slipping through his fingers until nothing was left but the memory of it against his skin.

“B- _ Barley _ ,” Ian tried, stepping close enough to touch him; hoping that he wouldn’t recoil. “I-It’s  _ not _ . . . It’s not  _ like _ that,” he continued. “I was— _ Think _ about—” he stopped himself, aiming for sensibility through raw nerves. “The guys I-I was with, I picked because I wanted—” he cut himself off again, the reality of the situation weighing down on him.

Why couldn’t he just  _ say  _ it? Why couldn’t he just tell himself the  _ truth _ ? Tell his  _ brother  _ the truth?

Perhaps the  _ truth  _ could heal all of this.

“I-I-I wanted  _ you . . . _ the  _ whole _ time. I already  _ told _ you I was jealous, o-of your last few girlfriends. I just—” his hands desperately yearned to rest against Barley’s chest, but instead clung to one of the man’s forearms. “You’re better than  _ all _ of them, Barley. W-What you said _ isn’t true _ . You  _ gotta _ know it isn’t true. I-It’s  _ different _ with you . . . I  _ love _ you.”

With Barley’s free hand, he raised it to cover his face, embarrassed by his emotions. He sniffled and wiped his face with his arm, frowning to hide how he felt. 

“The guys at school who have been taking advantage of you? You were drawn to them, weren’t you? Because they were big? Because they were... outgoing? You wanted me and you found them, and they hurt you.” He reached for Ian and pulled him against his broad chest, holding him tightly. Face buried in Ian’s curls, he spoke with a wavering voice. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ian.”

Ian found himself nodding numbly to the questions he was asked; the weightlessness of being honest with his brother about the situation surrounding the men he’d been intimate with was . . .  _ liberating _ .  _ Freeing _ , even. 

But the emotions  _ Barley _ was dealing with? To see him hurting and confused this way? Ian was heartbroken for him. What could he possibly do to make this better? 

He weighed his limited options; but settled on simply holding his brother in return, for as long as he needed him to.

“I-It’s not your fault, Barley . . . I could have  _ said  _ something to you,” the wizard reasoned, the sound of his elder’s sniffles dampening his spirits as brightly as they aimed to burn. “J-Just . . .  _ Just let it out _ . I’m  _ right here. _ It’s just  _ you and me _ ,” he tried his best to put on a smile, but couldn’t help but allow a tear or two of his own to fall.

It was hard for them to be this raw and exposed to one another. They’d done a lot of it over the past two weeks. And Ian was beginning to wonder if this was what it felt like to be in-love with someone: To be unmasked and unprotected and fragile, relying completely upon your own trust of another person . . .

They stayed that way for a while before Barley released him, giving himself enough room to wipe his face one more time. “So you’re… you don’t think I’m part of the problem? You don’t feel like we’d be better off only being brothers? Not that I want that…” He squeezed Ian’s hands. 

Ian was already shaking his head before Barley could even grip his hands. 

“ _ Barley _ ,” Ian paused, a crooked smile offered as he raised to press a timid kiss into his elder’s stubbled cheek. “I couldn’t  _ take _ it, if I had to go back to being without you . . . Like  _ this _ , I mean,” he gestured between them gently. “I-If  _ anything _ , being with you has been the best thing that’s happened to me since . . . Since  _ magic _ ,” he pursed his lips, chocolate eyes trying desperately to convey his emotions. “C-Can we—Do you think you can put on a face? Just for  _ mom _ ? A-And then we can go to your room. I  _ promise _ . We can just  _ talk _ .”

Barley nodded. “I dunno about a face, but I’ll think of an excuse.”

They walked inside, and almost instantly, Laurel noticed Barley’s reddened eyes and weary expression. She was immediately up out of her seat. 

“Honey! What’s wrong? What happened?”

Barley stared at her for a long moment and then said, “I… I hit a unicorn.”

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? Is the van alright?”

“Yeah,” Barley said, glancing at Ian. “It was just the unicorn. It was making this awful noise. Its leg looked… well, it flew off before I could get to it. I just feel awful.” 

“Aw honey, these things happen.” She gave him a hug, and once more he looked over her shoulder at Ian.

Ian’s entire resolve seemed to curdle; brows raised and eyes squinted as he both leered through his brother’s broad back, and also tried his best to chew back a bitter cackle. When his mother cast a glance in his direction, he’d tried his hardest to force an expression of concern, but he wasn’t sure it was all that convincing. 

Within a few moments of soothing, Barley was well on his way back into his bedroom—Ian shooting him a strange glance as they crossed paths. And after a few strenuous minutes of coming up with fibs based on the story his brother had offered, Ian made his way into his sibling’s room and closed the door behind him. 

“ _ Barley _ ,” he groaned, clearly annoyed but humored all the same. “A  _ unicorn _ , Barley?  _ Really _ , dude? C-Can _ I _ just make something up for you next time?” 

“Huh? Why? Was it bad?” 

Barley kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his vest, tossing it on the back of his chair. Hat joining it, he collapsed onto the bed, leaving room for Ian beside him.

Rolling his rounded eyes with a wry smirk, Ian heaved a little sigh and crossed the room to lay himself out next to his brother. 

“I can’t even believe she  _ fell  _ for that,” he mumbled, voice low as he positioned himself to peer up at his protector. “S-So  _ talk _ to me. What . . . I wanna help you  _ relax _ , if I can. What do I need to do?” the sunkissed spellcaster inquired with a strange glint in his eyes. “I-I  _ hated _ —How you were feeling  _ out there _ ?  _ That _ hurt. I  _ hated _ seeing you hurt like that . . . I love you. I just . . . Do you wanna keep  _ talking _ ? About this?”

Barley’s eyes were fixed on the necklace hanging sideways on Ian’s neck, the little heart resting against Ian’s shoulder. He said, “I don’t know. It was… scary? Thinking about you finding yourself alone with some of the guys in those photos. Some of them look like they could snap you in half.” He finally met Ian’s eye. “Do I really look like them?”

The inquiry caught Iandore completely off-guard; somber golden eyes seeming to stare straight through him. He hummed softly, thinking back on the men he’d been with over the last few years . . . 

“You’re _hotter_ than they are,” he offered with a bashful smile, but pressed on. “T-To be honest? They might look big in the pictures . . . But in-person, _you’re_ bigger than most of them,” Ian admitted, doe-eyes earnest as he went. “A-And I _really_ _like_ that,” he added quickly, carefully selecting his words. “But, they don’t have your _heart_. They aren’t—They aren’t as _smart_ as you are. Or as _kind_. O-Or as fun to be around. They just . . . They _look_ the part. But they’re not . . . _you_. You’re not like them. You’re _better_.”

An awkward smile turned the corner of Barley’s mouth, and he looked away again, embarrassed. “Yeah I’m pretty great,” he joked. They both smiled and then Barley’s brows drew together once more. “And uh… there’s something else. Something I actually am a little sour over.”

Ian quirked a brow, pondering his elder’s phrasing. 

“Okay . . . Go ahead,” he offered cautiously, curiosity surging through him.

Barley chewed on his lower lip and then asked, “Did you really sleep with my friend, Jay? And... did you sleep with any of my other friends?”

Ian felt a bit exposed at the inquiries. There was a lot of  _ power  _ in what he’d done with a few of Barley’s friends. His experiences with them were liberating and exciting at the time, but they were a means to an end.

A Tower of Babel, if you will; they were as close as he could get to Heaven. 

But the memories of them were rather colorless, now that he’d had a taste of the real thing.

“Well . . .  _ Yes _ ,” Ian started, quickly following up with, “b-but they didn’t  _ hurt _ me. They wouldn’t  _ do _ that. A-And _ I _ was the one who wanted to . . . They just . . . They were just doing what I  _ asked _ .”

Frowning again, Barley glared at Ian’s chest. This was a nightmare, imagining all of his grungy friends and wondering which ones of them had taken off Ian’s clothes, had touched him and even fucked him. He rubbed his forehead and said, “Okay, I’m gonna need names.”

Ian balked, expression caught somewhere between concern and sorrow. 

“W- _ Why _ ? What . . . What do you need with  _ names _ ?” he inquired, lithe body going slightly tense. “I-I already told you it was  _ my _ fault.  _ I  _ was the one who asked  _ them _ .”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” Barley insisted. “These aren’t some guys in your school, these are  _ my _ friends! I think I deserve the right to decide if I still want to hang out with them. It’s not just about you. They were keeping secrets from me and sneaking around behind my back.”

“ _ Yeah _ ! Because I  _ told _ them not to tell you, man,” Ian hissed, keeping his voice low. “Jay  _ asked _ me if we should tell you. I told him absolutely  _ not _ ! Because I didn’t wanna  _ piss you off _ . A-And I know how you are! You wanna protect me from  _ everything _ , b-but I’m not a little kid anymore, Barley,” Ian reasoned; passionate, yet pleading. 

And then a sigh. 

“ _What_ . . . Just tell me what you’re going to _do_? It _already_ _happened_.”

“If you’re not going to tell me anything then I don’t have to tell you anything,” Barley said stubbornly. “Firstly because I don’t really know how I’m going to feel. And secondly, because you can’t logic me out of feeling hurt. I feel like I don’t want to hang out with any of them now.”

Barley’s frustration grew, and in a huff he grabbed his pillow and dramatically slammed it over himself so that Ian couldn’t see him.

Ian rolled his eyes at his elder’s little show, raising up on the bed and sliding away from him a bit. 

“Barley,  _ look _ ,” he began, watching the pillow with a strange expression (lingering on humored, but trying to remain firm). “ **_Look_ ** _ at me _ , dude.” 

Ian crossed his arms.

“It’s not like I’m ever gonna  _ see _ them again . . .  _ Right _ ? And  _ look _ , if I told you they were all guys you know from concerts—You know  _ you’re _ gonna see them again.  _ Right _ ?! I-It's not like you can  _ stop _ going to concerts . . . That’s what you  _ do _ . You  _ love _ music. You love the  _ bands _ . You love the  _ atmosphere _ ,” Ian shook his head, tightening his hold on his core.

“But i-if I told you who they were, maybe . . .  _ Maybe _ you’d stop going. A-And I couldn’t  _ stand _ myself, if my actions ruined that for you,” he explained, huffing a bit before switching positions; moving to climb overtop of Barley, straddling him. “And it was only  _ three _ guys. It’s not like . . .  _ a lot _ .”

Hesitantly Barley came out from under the pillow and looked up at Ian. "It wasn't anyone from game night? Not Arthur or Lance? Not Max?"

Ian wrinkled his profound nose, shaking his head fervently. 

“N- _ No _ ! Those guys aren’t my type at all,” he scoffed, almost defensively. “I-I’m not  _ desperate _ , Barley . . . I-I-I’m not  _ ugly _ or anything . . .” he huffed, giving his elder’s meaty chest a playful slap. “ _ Right _ ?”

"Hey!" Barley said, playfully defensive, "I asked because they're my best mates, not because I was thinking about your  _ standards _ . And I don't think any of them are ugly. Well, Arthur, maybe…  _ Anyway _ , obviously you are the prettiest belle at the ball, so don't worry yourself." 

Valentine-eyes rolled before peering into liquid flax; Iandore craning down for a kiss. 

“ _ Hey _ ,” he began, a flush tinting his dappled cheeks, “Those guys don’t  _ matter _ anymore, Barley. I’ve got  _ you _ now. A-And you’ve got  _ me _ , right? Forget about them.” 

Another little kiss—a bit deeper—and Ian was pulling back, balancing his weight on his brother’s belly.

Smirking, Barley said, "I see what you're doing. Trying to distract me with your sweet little kisses and your irresistible smile, sitting up there like you're king of the world. That's right. I see you, Iandore."

Barley grabbed Ian by the waist and pulled him down to the side, rolling so that Barley was on top.

Ian flushed at the accusation—he’d been caught—but yelped as he was flipped. He mewled against his sibling’s kiss, arching his slender throat into bristled lips as he reached to ball his narrow fists into the well-worn fabric of Barley’s band shirt. 

“I-I just wanna take your mind off of . . . this  _ stuff _ ,” he admitted, reconnecting their lips. 

He knew what he’d started was risky. Laurel and Colt were still very much awake . . . 

“I don’t want you to dwell on this . . .  _ You’ve _ got me. Y-You  _ win _ .  _ Who cares _ ?”

"Nice try," Barley said. He brushed his nose along Ian’s neck and shoulder, just breathing in the scent of him. Delicious. “How about I let it go for now? But this won’t be the end of it.”

He shifted down, pulling up Ian’s shirt and kissing his tummy. He stuck his tongue into Ian’s shallow navel, smiling as he wiggled it around.

Ian’s face heated at the barbed kiss pressed into his belly, but pleasure quickly gave way to crystalline laughter at his elder’s next oral offering. He’d tried to squirm away, but of course, Barley was holding him firmly in-place; milking the situation (and the smiles) for all he was worth. For a moment, it seemed as if every tension between them had lifted—

_ “Boys? Dinner,” _ rang the all-too-familiar voice of their mother from just beyond the door.

Both brothers exchanged flustered glances as they attempted to scramble apart, but the doorknob was turning before any real changes in their positioning could take place.

Barley went into survival mode, immediately trying to find some way to justify being right on top of his brother, whose knees were bent on either side of him. The door was OPENING. Barley snatched up one of his pillows and shoved it over Ian's face as if he were smothering him. Ian let out a muffled shriek and began to struggle, which was exactly what they needed. 

"Shh, shh, just let it happen, Iandore," Barley said before turning. "Oh hey, Mom!" 

"What are you two doing?!" she laughed. "Barley, release your brother this instant!"

Barley let go of the pillow and Ian gasped. He said, "Sorry, we both decided we wanted to be only children and there could only be one of us. I was winning." 

Ian glared daggers at Barley—his face reddened and his hair mussed as he kicked and slapped a bit in frustration (causing little damage to the giant above him).

Laurel stepped in a bit more, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

“ _ Very _ funny, Barley,” she smirked. “So, are you going to stay for dinner? Or are you taking off  _ into the night _ ,” she mimicked gallantly, “as soon as you’ve thoroughly traumatized your brother?” 

She watched as Ian caught his breath and wound his willowy arms across his bony chest.

And there Barley was, caught between his brother and his mother; two sets of blameless eyes and crossed arms aimed toward him expectantly.

Mouth hanging open as he thought, Barley looked at the ceiling and then at his mother. “I was thinking I’d take off into the night. But… I was also thinking that Ian could come with me? Will you be lonely without us?”

Laurel tapped on her lip. “Hmm, a peaceful dinner, alone with my husband. How ever will I survive?!” She turned and headed back out, and called out to Colt, wherever he was. “Honey! Can you get the candles?”

Barley glanced at Ian. “Guess you’re stuck with me, unless you want to join Mom and Colt for a romantic, candlelit dinner.” 

Ian thought to protest; but realized that he was freshly showered, and his hair had received adequate time to dry . . . If  _ anything _ , leaving the house was another excuse to come back for another shower. 

“ _ Sure _ . Let’s go,” he chirped, leaning up to place a swift kiss against Barley’s jaw before slipping out from beneath him. 

As he took a stand, he gave a little stretch, heading toward the door before turning to his elder. 

“Y- _ Y’know _ , we could always go find a place to have, uh . . .” he trailed, fawn-like eyes darting about as he grasped the doorknob. “We could have our  _ own _ candlelit dinner. S-Sometime. If you wanted,” he smiled with a shrug, sun-flecked cheeks flushing anew as he slipped out of the room without giving the older Lightfoot a chance to react.

To be continued.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your encouraging feedback! It means so much to us that you take the time to do so!

It hadn’t taken him much time to get dressed; descending the stairs in a pair of dark skinnies and a merlot button-up. He wasn’t sure what Barley had in mind for their evening, but he didn’t want to be over-or-under dressed. When he reached his brother’s door, he gave it a quick wrap before entering, smiling shyly as he peered inside, unsure of what to say except: 

“ _ Ready _ ?”

Barley was lying on his bed, hands under his head when Ian opened the door. He sat up, looking at Ian with wide eyes. “Oh wow, you look… um…” He smiled, looking both nervous and dazzled, and tugged on the collar of his shirt. “You look really nice.” Ian’s shirt was unbuttoned a little more than usual, just enough that the heart necklace was visible against his periwinkle skin.    
  
The older Lightfoot glanced down at himself, because he had not even changed. “Uhh… maybe you should pick out something for me. You know, so you don’t look like you’re going out with literal trash?”

Ian quirked his brows, appearing perplexed as he stepped into the room and tentatively eyed his brother. 

“You don’t look like  _ trash _ ,” he smiled, but turned to open Barley’s closet regardless. “Uhm . . . Do you have any actual  _ pants _ ? A pair of  _ jeans _ that  _ fit _ you? Uhm,” he remarked as he leafed through, finding a pair of black jeans with tattered knees.

He balked, realizing they were the only pair of jeans the sturdy gamer seemed to own (or at least that weren’t stored away in the garage). 

“ _ Okay _ ,” he sighed, pulling them off the hanger and draping them across his wiry arm. 

He then set out to find a shirt; a short-sleeved black button-up catching his eye as he reached the end of the line. 

“This’ll do, then,” he tossed, taking it off of the hanger and turning to deposit both of the garments into his sibling’s arms. “Real pants, and a nice shirt? Lose the beanie? I-I’ll give you  _ road head _ ?” he smirked, teasing as he waited for a reaction.

Barley had been frowning at the selection and regretting his decision to let Ian choose when his brother’s words froze him. “Iandore Lightfoot,” Barley chided. “I think you overestimate my ability to drive.” With that he pulled off his hat and took the clothes from Ian. “Now get out of here so I can preserve my modesty.”

Ian scoffed—unable to stifle a little chuckle at Barley’s expression—as he turned to exit the room. 

“Fine,  _ fine _ ,” he sighed, opening the door and stepping out. “I’ll wait by Gwinny,” he informed as an afterthought. 

Closing his brother inside to exchange niceties with Laurel and Colt, the wine-clad wizard bade them adieu and exited his home to find that evening violet had been replaced by the twinkling of stars.

He gazed up to them—steadying himself against the driver’s side door—wondering for a moment if his father were among them. 

“Hope you’re still as proud of me  _ now  _ as you were two years ago,” he smiled, an emotion coursing through him he quickly discarded in favor of eying the front door.

Just a few minutes later, Barley was walking out the door looking disgruntled in his ‘different’ clothes. He had tucked in the button-down, and having changed his mind, was now pulling it out again. His messy hair had been combed and slicked back neatly at an angle. 

“Alright then, you ready?”

Dense brows rose; Iandore taking in the moonlit figure of his brother as he strode up to him. 

“ _ Oh, wow,” _ he whispered, eying Barley up-and-down slowly as he took in the full extent of the change in his silhouette. 

He didn’t wait to receive permission; raising on his tiptoes, capturing his brother’s mouth in a brief but forceful kiss. 

“ _ Sure _ . Let’s go,” he parroted his earlier sentiment, smiling as he rounded the vehicle and slid into the passenger’s seat. “Y-You look amazing, by the way . . .” he commented, buckling himself in and eying the brash adventurer’s hair with a little smirk. “So, where are you taking us?”

Barley was still a little flustered by Ian’s very positive reaction, and had to think a moment before responding. “Ah.. about that, I kind of only thought about us going out right when I asked Mom. And then you showed up looking like a  _ snack _ and now I honestly have no idea where to take you.” He looked at Ian apologetically.

Ian’s face softened at his brother’s praise, a bashful smile lighting his flushed features for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. 

“So . . . Why don’t we  _ just _ . . .” bronze eyes darted back to the darkness of the van’s rear. “We could go and pick up something, and—I dunno—find a place to eat? I-It doesn’t have to be fancy. We could just grab some sandwiches, a-and a bottle of wine or two from SwampGas, and just . . .  _ hang _ .”

“Yeah,” Barley said, feeling as if he’d gotten off too easy. But it really did sound excellent.

They drove to a familiar shop and picked up food, and then headed down the road to the marsh where they’d fought before. It felt like ages ago. They sat in the back, cross-legged and face-to-face, working on their sandwiches and glancing out the open side door. Crickets sang and a gentle breeze rustled the tall grass. The stars were bright over a blue and purple sky. 

Raising the bottle of wine to his lips, Ian watched the stars with an unreadable expression, but made sure to smile gently as he passed the bottle back to Barley. 

“Thanks for picking all this up,” he mumbled, cautious not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. “ _ So _ . . . How was your game? Did you even  _ play _ ? You came home so  _ early _ . . .”

Barley drank from the bottle and set it down, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, I left in a rush when I found out my friend had his hands on my baby. But before that it wasn’t the most amazing either. On the way there — ”

“ _ B-Baby _ ?” 

The little mage’s heart skipped a beat at the usage of the word, eyes rounding as he searched his brother’s flaxen gaze for an answer. 

“You—Am I your baby?” he wondered aloud, unable to contain the grin spreading across his face as he quirked his brows. 

Barley’s ears sagged a bit as he grinned back at him. “Well yeah, you’re my baby. I mean, I’ve said it to you before.” 

Ian chewed his lip, gaze softening as he reached for the bottle again; taking in a bit more than he bargained for. 

“Y- _ Yeah _ but . . . Not like  _ this _ . Not just,  _ casually _ , in a conversation,” he reminded, handing the bottle back to Barley. “A-And I  _ like _ it. So maybe you should  _ start _ ,” he quipped, eyes lingering on his brother’s lips for a moment too long before returning them to the starlit sky above. “Anyway. I’m sorry. Go ahead.” 

Fidgeting with one of the buttons on his shirt, Barley said, “Well there isn’t much to share. It was kinda meh because Lily was in a bad mood. I picked her up on the way there, like usual, and she was just… I don’t know, acting like I should still be doing boyfriend things. Texting her at night, that kind of thing. I ended up telling her I was seeing somebody.” He beamed at Ian. “I may have bragged that they taught me how to kiss.”

A wry chuckle escaped the sunkissed mage’s full lips as his brother finished his tale, a shake of his head given as he eyed the holes in his brother’s jeans . . . And then his gaze caught the gamer’s; eyes flickering to light with something heated.

He switched his position, moving the wine bottle from between them as he climbed to straddle his brother’s lap. 

“ _ Fuck _ Lily,” he tossed, the telltale flush of wine beneath his freckles as he caught his brother’s bristled mouth in a kiss somewhere between searing and forceful. “You belong to  _ me  _ now,” he added as they broke, taking Barley’s lower lip between his teeth. “ _ Right _ ? She doesn’t get to kiss you like this,” came his next remark, digging his elder’s lips apart with his wine-sweetened tongue.

He tasted him for a moment, frail fists balled in the collar of his button-up before pulling away once more. 

“And  _ you  _ don’t get to kiss anyone else like this either . . .  _ Right _ ?”

“Absolutely right,” Barley breathed. Those words uttered from Ian’s lips, ‘ _...you belong to me now… _ ’ had an instant reaction on him, his heart pounding harder, and his dick perking up beneath the unfamiliar squeeze of black denim. His thick arms wrapped around Ian’s little body, squeezing him close. “Nobody gets me but you. That’s how I like it.” He leaned in and kissed Ian again, accepting the wine-soaked tongue and sucking off the sweetness. He offered his own as well, delving into the wet little cavern. 

Barley shifted and set Ian down on his back. He bit down on Ian’s neck and sucked, feeling ravenous despite having just eaten. One hand ran up Ian’s chest, thick fingers sliding over the buttons. “You better take this off if you don’t want it torn off.”

Out of instinct, Ian found himself pressing into the teeth at his throat, whimpering a bit as pain-tinted pleasure flooded his body. He considered letting Barley tear his shirt off—a little smile gracing his lips as memories of their first tryst in the back of Guinevere the Second lit his mind. 

“Yes, Sir,” he shuddered, nimble fingers quickly unfastening the buttons of his shirt to reveal inch after inch of flushed periwinkle flesh; already littered with Barley’s previous handiwork. “Go on,” he urged, shrugging out and tossing it behind him somewhere.

Barley made a sound that rumbled, unable to resist the, ‘sir’. He didn’t know why it got to him, but a moment later he was pushing Ian’s legs apart, grinding the tight bulge in his jeans against Ian’s groin. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it wasn’t, but Barley was desperate to claim every inch of Ian. He pulled off his brother’s shoes and jeans, taking his underwear down with it. Ian lied there stark naked save for his necklace, while Barley loomed over him, fully dressed. 

He looked around. “I think you left the lube in here somewhere, right? I wanna finger you.”

Ian nodded, motioning to the built-in magazine-pocket behind the driver’s seat. 

“I-It’s over there,” he said, feeling exposed; but too wound up to realize he should be ashamed of his nudity. “I’ve been craving your fingers again all day,” he smiled weakly; his statement offered in a gasp. 

Lust-clouded axinite followed Barley as he retrieved the lube, heart thudding in anticipation as he settled back between his legs.

Barley opened the bottle and then huffed, setting it aside. “Goddamn, these fucking pants are so…” He reached for his own waistband, unbuttoning and unzipping so that his dick could have more room. It was still concealed by his boxers, but it was a deal less uncomfortable now.

He went back to the lube, pouring it onto his fingers and slicking them, glancing up at Ian with a smile as he coated his entrance as well. Barley settled closer, leaning on his elbow as he pushed his finger into the small ring of muscle. 

In an instant, Ian’s back was arching; finding his body easily accepted the finger. The usual burn of being stretched had been replaced by an unfamiliar pleasure, something he recognized as an aftereffect of alcohol. 

“ _ Fuck _ , that’s good,” he purred, looking down over his apex of ribs from his place on his back. “C-Can you go a little deep— _ Ah _ !” he yelped, the Quest Master’s dense finger slamming against his prostate before he’d even had a chance to complete his request. “O-Oh my god, Barley,” he groaned, the stars that danced before his eyes melding into white-heat as the action was repeated. “M- _ More _ . Please.”

Barley complied, pressing another slick finger in beside the first. Ian’s body was giving a little easier than before, and Barley didn’t worry so much that he’d hurt him. “That good?” He asked, stroking the two fingers in and out of him. Ian was already whimpering and writhing, and Barley palmed his own erection as he watched. He kissed Ian’s thigh and then grazed his teeth against the pale blue skin, playfully nipping at it. He leaned in and licked Ian’s hard prick, and then sucked at the delicate skin of his balls. 

Smiling, he said, “I love the way you tighten up when I try things.”

It didn’t take long for the petite mage to surrender himself entirely to passion; body shivering at the disjointed stimulation. 

Thigh, prostate, cock, scrotum . . . 

The only thing that was real to him in this moment, was Barley. 

“I-I just need—” he cut himself off, reaching to catch his brother by his neatly combed hair, yanking him down to meet his erection again. “ _ Suck _ ,” Ian bossed, raising his hips to bring his manhood to Barley’s lips. “A-And keep your fingers in  _ deep _ .”

“Anything for you,” Barley purred, licking Ian’s member once more. And then he took it between his lips and sunk down around it. He groaned as he felt the fingers in his hair, and pumped his own fingers into Ian faster. Soon Ian’s hips were bucking up against his face, and Barley  _ ached _ at the sight of his body curving with each motion. 

After a while Barley pulled off, taking a moment to breathe. Ian was still mewling and shivering as he slowly rubbed the inside of him. Barley looked down at his fingers as they slipped in and out of Ian, and something in him broke. “God, Ian… I really, really want to fuck you.” His eyes widened at what he’d blurted out, and he looked up at Ian. “Uhm, what do you think?” He continued to move his fingers as he studied Ian’s face. “Think you could? Do you want me to?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Ian practically whined, heavily lidded doe-eyes laboring to focus through the haze of desire. “ _ Please _ fuck me,” he begged, pivoting his hips to pump himself onto the fingers inside him. “I-I’ve been needing you inside me for  _ days _ .” 

There was scarcely an inch of his skin that wasn’t alight with shivers and the glisten of perspiration; pupils blown wide as they latched onto Barley’s with an unspoken trust.

Barley melted under that gaze, slowly removing his fingers and then leaning forward to crush their mouths together. He kissed Ian like he was starving, a little too rough, too much teeth and tongue, until Ian’s lips were flush and plump with abuse. Barley took a moment to breathe and then undid his pants, and then poured lube into his hand. He slicked his length, generously applying the clear liquid. He then moved closer again, lining himself up, and pushed inside. 

Even with the preparation, Ian’s body was  _ so _ tight around him. A strangled groan escaped him as the head popped in, taut muscle stretching around his girth. His eyes drifted upward, desperate to see Ian’s face, to see if he was okay. 

Ian’s mind went blank. 

He wasn’t sure what he imagined he might feel. But whatever it was; it couldn’t possibly compare to this.

If he were being honest with himself, he was in pain. At least at first. He relinquished a choked sob, hands reaching for his abdomen on impulse; nails clawing into himself as they found nothing else to dig into.

And then he caught Barley’s eyes. 

There was so much concern and so much kindness, even through his lust and his hunger . . . 

The pastel conjurer felt his body relax a bit, allowing the oversized member to enter him as best he could. But it was a grueling process. 

Barley was trying his very best to be respectful of his fragile little body. Iandore could feel that. But at the halfway point; something sensitive and delicate was forced in a bit too hard. And Ian’s vision sparked white. 

A soundless scream—ringing more like a wheeze—escaped him as his prostate was slammed into by his brother’s cock. And paired with the feeling of fullness; Iandore had passed the point of coming unhinged.

“J-Just fuck me already damn it!” he sobbed, breath coming in waves of hyperventilation.

The demand was so aggressive that Barley didn’t have time to hesitate. He grabbed Ian’s thighs, pulled out until only he head was inside, and then sunk himself down deep. 

Ian’s eyes rolled back; the fullness of his brother’s manhood crushing itself into his sweet spot sent him into a flurry of moans and tremors. 

“Fuck, it’s so good,” he mewled through gritted teeth.

And then he felt it. Something unfamiliar forcing a choke from him. 

“ _ O-Oh my god _ ,” he whimpered, thin hands cautiously reaching down to hold his stomach as he felt something inside him . . . shift a bit. “I-I-It's all the way  _ in _ , right?” Ian croaked, a panicked little series of breaths offered as his brother bottomed out inside him. “Fuck Barley . . . Y-You’re so fucking big. I’m so full.”

“God, you are…” Barley breathed, eyes glued to the thick bulge in Ian’s lower tummy. He took hold of Ian’s hips, gripping him like a vice as he eased out before filling him again, watching as the tummy bulge grew. “Fuck… look at you.” A shaky hand reached for Ian’s, guiding him to feel it. “You took so much,” he murmured. Barley was on the verge of tears over how good it felt. He leaned closer, letting his weight do some of the work as he began to thrust. His hands, returned to Ian’s hips, kept him fixed in place as Barley began to pound into him. 

“You look so beautiful, you’re so warm inside… you feel- ah..” Barley began to talk nonstop, unable to help himself as he showered his brother in praise. As he began a steady rhythm he released Ian, leaning against him so they were flush. Barley kissed him feverishly, reaching for Ian’s hands and lacing their fingers together. 

But seconds later he was gripping Ian’s wrists and fucking him harder. He felt possessed. “I’m sorry, God, Ian! You feel incredible…” He kissed him hard and spoke against Ian’s mouth. “Are you okay? Is it okay?”

Ian found it nearly impossible to get his eyes to focus.

He felt his sibling go through a series of motions, working himself into a rhythm and trying to find a comfortable purchase on his delicate body . . . 

But what was the point? 

Iandore was barely there anymore.

What little dignity he had left to him, was lodged somewhere between his brother’s cock pummeling his insides, and the calloused hand vice-gripping both of his frail little wrists together. He listened to the sound of Barley’s voice, numbly showering him in half-spoken adorations and praise.

His hero—the very man who raised him up, and hung the stars for him—reduced to a blathering mess of hormones and raw passion.

And it was there, with the weight of his elder pressed firmly into his willowy frame, and the might of his manhood hammering into him; that Ian experienced bliss.

Two lovers, completely lost to the roaring tides of pleasure: Kissing, biting, clawing and bruising.

“I-It’s  _ so good _ , Daddy,” Ian mewled, mind completely emptied out.

And then—in an instant—he felt it all come to a halt; valentine-eyes snapping open to catch Barley’s, finding something . . .  _ changing _ in them.

Ian’s heart sank, adrenaline and lust battling for dominance as he opened his mouth to pour out anything he thought would make the pounding inside him continue: 

“I-I’m _sorry_ , Barley. P- _Please_ don’t stop. It feels _so fucking_ _good_. J-Just keep going. I-I-I’m _really_ sorry. I didn’t mean to make you stop. _Please_ **_please_** don’t stop—"

Barley had come to a dead stop as  _ that word _ rattled in his brain. He had never, ever lusted after the title, but Ian calling him ‘Daddy’ was a key in the ignition when he’d already  _ thought _ he was in overdrive. 

Ian looked even more panicked when Barley eased out of him, continuing to beg and plead and apologize. “Turn over,” Barley said, interrupting him. And he didn’t give Ian time to respond, because his strong arms were already lifting Ian up and turning him. He set him down on his hands and knees and grabbed his tiny waist, pushing back into the hilt. It was bliss all over again. Ian looked mouth-watering from this angle too, his back arched and pretty face peeking over his shoulder at Barley. Barley slammed his hips into him, causing Ian to yelp. 

Barley groaned. “S-Say it again… Say I’m your Daddy…”

In a flurry of flips and slams, Ian was once again filled to the very brink—his brother bottoming out inside him with such force, that he couldn’t help but take a lusty peek between his tremoring arms to watch his stomach skew and distend.

“F- _ Fuck _ !” he practically sobbed, glancing over his shoulder at Barley, whose luminous eyes held a similar sub-human quality to his own. “Harder, Daddy—P- _ Please _ , harder,” the lithe teen begged mindlessly with each thrust, body laboring to slam itself back into his brother’s plunges. 

But his bony hips were gripped tightly; the willowy length of him seemingly weightless in the gamer’s calloused hands as he was thoroughly used. 

And Ian found—that with the right man—he loved every minute of it.

“You’re so fucking good, Daddy—”

“Y-Yeah baby, so are you,” Barley praised. “So good for me, so fucking perfect…” Barley bent forward, nuzzling Ian between the shoulderblades. His once slicked-back hair was now a wild mess, his shirt clinging to his sweat-slick skin. He hadn’t even gotten undressed, pants still rumpled around his knees. 

“Feels so good, you feel so good,” Barley stammered. “I want you to feel this good…” He reached between Ian’s legs, stroking him as he pounded against his tiny form. “I wanna feel you cum around me and then I’m gonna fill you up. God, I love you, Ian. I love you. Come on, baby. Cum for me...”

Hearing his brother professing his love had thrown Ian’s clouded mind further into overdrive; the toughened grip pumping at his erection—already heavily seeping precum onto the floor—causing him to attempt bucking forward on instinct. 

“I-I’m close,” Ian gasped as he felt himself tense; contractions running from his stuffed belly to the muscles of his pelvic floor. “I-I’m  _ so close _ , Daddy,” he cried out, voice caught between wanton and panic.

A few more vigorous plows into his tight little body, and swift pumps to his pulsating hardness was all it took to send the young mage well-over the edge, emptying himself all over his elder’s hand (and the floor beneath him). 

He didn’t offer a single sensical word, just strangled sobs and hyperventilation. And as Barley predicted, his entire body tensed; sucking and locking the burly adventurer’s cock into him like a slick velvet vice. 

Barley had gotten everything he wanted and the feeling was still unexpected. Making Ian cum like this, hearing his screams and feeling him tremble head to toe, feeling his entrance clench down and twitch as tightly as it was capable of, it was too much. Making Ian cum was a lifestyle. Barley’s body jerked and he froze, cock pulsating again and again as cum forced its way into Ian’s insides. Barley began to move again, painfully slowly, more cum flooding into Ian. And then he stopped, unable to stand any more. 

By now, Ian’s arms had collapsed and his face rested on the blankets, rear still in the air supported by Barley and his own knobbly knees. Barley was hit with a wave of exhaustion and he buckled forward, a hand slamming on the floor to brace himself. He eased out of Ian with a pop, and cum spilled out onto the floor. Barley didn’t know what to do about it, his brain completely fried. He shifted and collapsed beside Ian, and with the last of his strength, helped Ian shift into a more comfortable position. They lied there quietly, the only noise coming from the relentless cricket songs and their own unsteady breaths. 

Ian laid against his brother's sweat-soaked shirt; a meek little smile on his heavily flushed face as he craned a bit to press a sweaty kiss into his lover’s barbed jaw. 

“That was . . . fucking  _ beautiful _ ,” he panted softly, a sleepy giggle escaping him as he reached to rub Barley’s belly through the fabric clinging to his skin. “How was it? Your first time?” he smiled through a grimace, as his brain finally registered the warm cum slowly running out of his well-worn orifice. “D-Did I make you proud?”

Barley chuckled breathily at the last comment. “So proud,” he said, smiling. “And yeah, that was… an amazing first time. Is sex like that a lot? Just… mind-blowing?”

Ian’s expression softened a bit, unpleasant memories dancing behind his heavy eyes . . . 

“I-It  _ will _ be, for  _ us _ . I  _ promise _ ,” he assured with a smile—a tinge of sorrow in his tone that he quickly flushed away with more praise. “I-I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my  _ life _ ,” he chuckled, “A-A-And did you see my  _ stomach _ ? I didn’t even know my body could  _ do _ that,” he admitted, voice warm and humored as he relaxed into his place beside Barley. “You’re . . .  _ amazing _ . I-I can’t believe I got to be your first time—That  _ you _ wanted  _ me _ to be . . . I’m  _ so _ —I’m  _ just _ —I love you.”

Barley felt a twinge of guilt, not having realized that he might bring up unpleasant memories for Ian. But he wasn’t going to dwell on it, not if Ian didn’t want to. He smiled along with Ian as the smaller elf perked up. “I feel the same way,” he said, reaching for Ian and pulling him closer. I can’t believe how lucky I am that you want me, that I get to be with you. I love you too, Ian.” 

Iandore wondered in that moment, if his heart would ever cease to skip a beat at his brother’s confessions of romance. And then, in the bliss of their afterglow, a comfortable silence fell between them.

Their perspiration had long-since dried, though Barley’s clothes were still damp, and Ian was already conjuring an excuse—one that  _ didn’t _ involve unicorns—for his brother to utilize should he require it upon entering their home.

However, as the lazy sway of his thoughts leafed back through the fluorescent memories of their recent lovemaking; a single curiosity stood out amongst the many.

“So . . . When I called you ‘ _ Daddy’ _ ,” Ian’s lips struggled to choose between an adoring smile, or a devious smirk, “You really seemed to  _ like _ that . . . Do you—Would you like me to  _ call _ you that? D-Do you  _ like _ that?  _ Daddy _ ?”

Barley's face went furiously red, the pink flushing up to the tips of his ears. "No no, please don't. Or... I don't know. Maybe? I can't believe I got so worked up over that. I don't know what came over me."

Ian’s brows drew in concern, a sympathetic smile on his lips as he pulled back a bit to study his brother’s flushed, rugged features. 

“W-Well, how did, uh,” he trailed off, flushing a bit himself. “How did it make you  _ feel _ ? W-When I . . . called you that?” he inquired next, wondering if either of them were ready for the answer. “Obviously you . . . wanted more.  _ Right _ ?”

“Hah,” Barley laughed. “Obviously. Uhm… I wanted more, yeah. How it made me feel…?” Barley looked up at the lights hanging from the ceiling of the van. “It was sexy, but it was also… validating.” His gaze swiveled over to meet Ian’s. He looked at him intently. “I feel like nothing has ever been more important than taking care of you. So calling me that… well...” He grinned, eyes darkening. “Daddies get it done right. They’ll take care of you.” 

Pulse racing ever-so-slightly at his brother’s final comments, an additional little flush lit Ian’s cheeks. 

“That’s . . . That’s  _ true _ ,” he smiled—but tried not to get too lost in the moment. “You know, you’ve always done . . . an  _ amazing _ job, at taking care of me. I-I don’t tell you enough.” 

With this, another kiss was offered; this time on Barley’s lips. 

Not too deep, but not too chaste. 

“So it’s like . . . It’s a  _ sex _ thing? Should—Do we leave it for like—” Ian found himself nervous, unsure how to approach the subject. “When should I say it?”

Barley looked entirely stumped, and embarrassed once again. “Ahhh I don’t know. I guess it’s a sex thing. But… well, I think I’d love it any time you feel like saying it.”

Full lips parted for a chuckle, brows furrowing as Ian glanced at the quester’s semi-nudity for a moment before slipping back up to meet his eyes. 

“Maybe you can be Daddy whenever you’re being really,  _ really _ good to me?” he smiled; the little step in his front teeth exposed for a moment. 

He looked a bit more childish than he’d intended, but seemed blissfully unaware. 

“A- _ Anyway _ , we should probably get back,” he excused, clearing his throat as he gazed up into the fairy lights strewn across the ceiling. “I-I know your clothes are probably bothering you.”

“Yeah, it’s a sticky mood,” Barley murmured, tugging at the front of his shirt.

They both took a few minutes to wipe off certain messes and get properly dressed, and then headed home. Regretfully, it was one of those nights where Colt stayed up in the living room, making it impossible to have a night together. Barley texted Ian a sweet ‘goodnight’ and Ian texted him in return. Barley fell asleep by the light of the screen, half lost in his blankets. 

~*~

The next morning, Barley couldn’t move. He groaned, shifting and wincing. Everything hurt, and he recalled that the last time he’d felt so badly was when Colt had insisted on a family hike. He gingerly sat up and staggered into the bathroom, relieving himself and swishing with mouthwash. But he couldn’t manage anything more before dragging himself back to bed and pulling the blanket up over his face. 

Barley  _ may  _ have had a full ten minutes to himself before Ian was opening his door, eyes bright and hopeful as they met the rumpled mound of blankets and pillows obscuring his brother’s face. He toed the door closed behind him as he went, making his way through crumpled papers and discarded clothing before sitting on the edge of the bed; balancing a plate in his narrow hand. 

“Morning,” he offered timidly, brows drawn as he waited for the gamer to react to his voice. “I-I made you breakfast.”

Barley smiled under the blanket, but did not come out. He blindly reached, feeling around Ian until he located the plate, and poked several warm, soft things before feeling something rough. Bacon. Definitely bacon. He could smell it. He took it between two fingers and disappeared under the blanket again, folding the slice of bacon into his mouth and groaning in appreciation. 

Finally he made an appearance, pulling the blanket down enough to show his eyes and nose. “What’s all this for?”

Flushing as memories of a few hours prior lit his mind, the lithe spellcaster offered a little shrug; an oversized hoodie covering most of his bruising flesh as he smiled at the sleepy flaxen pools peering back at him. 

“Maybe for last night . . . O-Or maybe because you’re  _ cute _ ? Haven’t decided yet,” he quipped, gaze a bit sharper and posture a bit straighter today. “How’d you sleep?”

Finally revealing the rest of his face, Barley grinned. “Not badly, I’m just sore. I’m not exactly a gym rat.” He sat up, accepting the plate and taking another piece of bacon and folding it into his mouth. “Mmh, this is great, thank you!” He gave Ian a greasy kiss on the cheek. But as he took up the fork and dug into a heap of scrambled eggs, he paused. “But what about you? Are you um… very sore?”

A little wince was given at the oil-tinged kiss, but Ian let it linger; watching his brother enthusiastically dig into the meal he was offered. 

“Y- _ Yeah _ . . . But not in the same way,” he offered, a look of adoration creeping across his face as valentine-eyes lingered a touch too long . . . “I-I’m gonna get your coffee,” he announced, exiting the room for a few moments to return with twin mugs, placing one on his sibling’s nightstand. 

The other one—cradled in his lithe hands—was brought to his own lips as he took a languid seat at the foot of Barley’s bed. 

“So . . . Whatcha doing today?”

Barley chewed and swallowed a bite of eggs. “Hanging out with you, hopefully.” He held out a forkful in front of Ian in offering.

Ian quirked a brow, not offering a second thought before craning forward and plucking the bite of eggs from Barley’s fork before chewing thoughtfully; wrinkling his nose. 

“Ugh,  _ sorry _ , man. I’ll work on the eggs,” he chuckled, washing it down with his coffee before teetering his head. “You’re not getting  _ tired _ of me, yet?” he smiled, tone somewhere between teasing and hopeful. “What would we even  _ do _ ?”

Barley looked at the eggs in confusion, having thought they were perfectly yummy. He took another bite and said, "Oh I'm tired, alright. But I'm not  _ bored _ . I thought we could laze around by the water, swim if we have the energy?"

Ian’s mind was already running through the list of things he’d need for another outdoor escapade; but he smiled and nodded all the same. 

Sunblock, insect repellent, anti-allergens— 

“Sounds fun,” he half-lied, taking a long drink of his coffee. 

Anything he did with his brother was bound to be a good time, but he always had to get himself over that initial hurdle of obstinance. 

“Should I go pack then? D-Do you want me to bring anything  _ special _ ?” he inquired—then halted. “O-Oh, wait,” he sighed, raising the hem of his hoodie to present Barley with the bites and bruising hand-marks littering his hipbones and sides. “Do you know a spot where people won’t . . .  _ ask _ about these?”

"Oh my God!" Barley cried. He pushed the plate away and moved closer to Ian, lifting up the bottom of his hoodie. Ian was littered with bruises on his chest and stomach, and two full handprints on his hips where Barley had held him the tightest. He dropped the hem and tugged down the collar of the hoodie, finding hickeys and more dark patches. " _ Ian _ ," he said, his voice full of anguish. "I did all of this to you? I didn't know I was being so rough. Was I hurting you?"

Ian chuckled, an uneasy smile offered as the older Lightfoot fussed over him. 

“U-Uh, _not_ _really_! I-I’ll be _fine_ ,” he promised. 

From his throat to the tips of his flourished ears, Iandore was crimson; uncertain of how best to confess his indulgence. 

“I-I  _ liked _ . . . it. I really—It felt  _ good _ . When you made these,” he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Barley. 

He felt as though he were exposing his brother to a rather intimate part of him. 

“It makes me feel . . .  _ safe _ . I see them, a-and I  _ feel _ them, and it reminds me I’m  _ yours _ ,” his delivery was a bit more clear this time, chocolate eyes studying the floor intently. “You made these because you were  _ loving _ me. I-It’s  _ different _ .”

“Huh,” Barley said quietly, not entirely sure that he understood. He chuckled nervously, and gave Ian a teasing smile. “So you’re saying you’re into getting roughed up and choked?”

Ian’s brows furrowed a bit, but he smiled in-earnest. 

“Y- _ Yeah _ , actually,” he chuckled, wincing at his own admittance. “Not that I’d expect  _ you _ to do that!” he quickly assured, flushing more deeply as he raised his free hand in apology, then quickly chugged the remainder of his coffee. “U-Unless you  _ wanted  _ to . . . Anyway, don’t worry about the bruises! I’ve had  _ a lot _ worse! A-A-And those were on  _ purpose _ ! And I—Do you want more coffee?”

Blinking, Barley gave Ian a look. He hadn’t missed that comment, and he continued to watch Ian as he turned away, getting up to fetch more coffee. “I’m good,” he said distantly before Ian left the room, heading for the kitchen.

Ian had been through a lot worse? Worse than the bruises on his body now? And it had been on  _ purpose _ . The food in Barley’s stomach felt heavier. The vein in his neck pounded, jaw clenching as he thought about Ian melting down in the woods, Ian living in fear over these relentless fuckers from school. Barley clenched his fists. 

But then he thought about Ian, and how hard it was for him to admit anything. Ian had suffered in silence. And for what reason? Because Barley couldn’t handle the truth? Barley thought about it and wondered if Ian was right not to trust him. If he went off every time he found out about something, maybe Ian would grow less and less comfortable opening up to him.

The idea of letting this go made Barley sick. But he had to. He loosened his fingers and took a deep breath. 

He smiled hesitantly when Ian returned. “I think we could probably find a quiet place to swim if we go to the far end of the lake.”

Standing there with his mug in his hand, Ian’s flush hadn’t faded completely as he considered his sibling’s offer. 

“ _ Yeah _ , I mean, as long as you think no-one’s gonna show up and assume . . . the wrong  _ thing _ ,” his ears sulked a bit, before perking. “I’ll go get some things  _ packed _ , then?” he chirped, waiting for Barley to nod half-heartedly before taking off up the stairs and into his room to (over)prepare the ‘necessities’.

~*~

The lake was busy over where the parking lot was, but after a long walk, Barley and Ian found a secluded place behind a tree and a large cluster of rocks, where they could spread out towels and get comfortable. The water was cool and fresh, and the two of them swam lazily, watching the breeze carry clouds overhead. When their fingers turned pruny, they got out and toweled off, and Barley stretched himself out over his towel. There was shade beneath the tree, and Barley folded his arms behind his head. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but soon he was quietly snoring, expression smoothed out with sleep.

Watching his brother sleep languidly, Ian’s eyes shone with a quiet admiration. Even while resting, Barley held the most dazzling, peculiar energy.

There, in the tranquil afternoon, lie his future.

A future in which the lissom enchanter hoped he could rely upon for years to come. 

Thin fingers itched to run through dampened hair and caress bristled cheeks, but resisted for the time being; instead reaching for his cellphone on the edge of his towel.

If  _ Barley _ was to be his future, then perhaps now, he could safely cut ties with his  _ past _ .

And so, taking a quiet stand and strolling off along the water’s edge—safely out of earshot—Iandore reached for one of the  _ brighter _ slivers of his tattered history.

Jarrett—or simply ‘ _ Jay’ _ as he was known to most—was a man with a penchant for the fast life. Mead, motorcycles, metal concerts and malevolent women; all things he was known for, and one of which he’d given up after only a month of weekend-exposure to his close friend’s younger sibling.

Bronze eyes softened as they scanned over the text messages; some sexy and others sweet. One in particular, a picture of the man in question with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth—winking and wearing nothing but a towel—brought a little chuckle to the wizard’s lips.

He shook his head, flipping through a few more: 

A motorcycle accompanied by the text;  _ ‘cant w8 to take u for a ride’. _

Jay gripping a wooden staff in his calloused hand _ ; ‘got this in at the pawn shop today n thought of u’.  _

And finally, a photo that was taken during riotous times; the two of them together, holding glass bottles and smiling into the camera—the bigger man’s spiked leather jacket draped across Ian’s tiny shoulders.

A supple thumb minimized the photo, moving instead to press the ‘Call’ button as Ian lifted the phone to his spaded ear: 

“Uh,  _ hey _ . . . How are  _ you _ ?”

To be continued.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the wonderful readers who have left us such kind reviews! We appreciate it so much!

Barley woke from his nap at the sound of splashing. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, grinning when he found Ian wading back into the lake. His lanky hips swayed as they disappeared beneath the dark surface. When Ian glanced back at him, Barley got to his feet and followed after him. 

~*~

It was nearly dinner time when they returned home. They went about the Lightfoot-Bronco family dinner ritual, each with a set of small tasks that ended with something warm and familiar. Colt grilled mushroom steaks outside while Laurel cooked at the stove, and Barley busied himself with washing the pots and pans as his mother dirtied them. Ian pulled the plates from the cabinet and the silverware from the drawer, and neatly set the table. He took out the glasses and filled them with what he already knew everyone wanted. Beer for Colt, wine for his mother, water for himself, and a glowing, toxic-looking glass of Mt. Doom for his brother. 

Dinner was nice, as it often was on Saturday nights when everyones’ schedules worked out. Barley insisted that cutting corn off the cob was a mortal sin, while watching Ian do just that. They had nearly finished dinner when Barley felt his phone going off in his pocket. 

He pulled it out and spared it a single glance, with every intention of calling whoever it was back after dinner. But his eyes fixed sharply on the name and photo on the screen, a bearded elf with long, straight hair, and a black, leather jacket. 

“Who is it?” Laurel inquired before taking a sip of wine.

“Uhm…” Barley instinctively glanced upward and met Ian’s eye, before looking down again. “It’s uh, my friend, Jay.”

“Oh, well you can get it if you want,” Laurel said. “We’re just about done.”

“Okay,” Barley said passively. That was when he realized he’d been holding his steak knife with an iron grip, and he carefully set it down on his plate. Standing, he walked down the hall and out the front door, hitting the green button as he went.

Ian’s blood ran cold in his veins as he met his brother’s gaze—a glint of something he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before broiling just beneath the surface.

But he offered nothing but a swallow in return, eyes darting to study the food he was pushing around on his plate, before raising to watch-after his elder’s lumbering form exiting the dining room.

Barley went down the steps and into the front yard. The phone to his ear, he said flatly, “Hi.”

_ “Hey, man . . . Look, we need to talk.” _

Immediately, Barley felt like he was going to explode. Jay had said nothing of significance and Barley was already tense, the hairs raised on his arms. He wandered over to the van and leaned sideways against it, tapping on the paint with agitated fingers. He exhaled twice, both times blowing off a sharp-edged retort. Through a strained jaw, Barley said, “Yeah, you could say that. I think we’re well overdue for a good talk.”

_ “ . . . Look, lil’ one told me about the pics . . . The ones that girl showed you . . . Man, I dunno how to tell you how sorry I am for not comin’ to you with this.” _   
  
“Not as sorry as you are that I found out, though, huh?” Barley tilted his head, tapping at the van even harder.   
  


_ “ . . . It ain’t  _ like _ that, Barley. I  _ wanted _ to tell ya but lil— _ your brother _ —told me you’d hate us if you ever found out . . . He asked me to keep quiet about it. And man, I’m  _ really _ sorry. I  _ am _. I-It was  _ selfish _. But I didn’t wanna lose him . . . I didn’t want you to make me stop seeing him.” _

Barley hit the mute button on his screen and screamed, “FUCK!” A woman walking her dragon on the sidewalk jumped, and both her and the dragon picked up speed as they hurried on their way. Barley’s nostrils flared, and he yanked off his hat and tugged at his hair. After unmuting the phone he said, “So, I guess this was like a regular thing for you two? How did your schedule work? Did you just come over to visit me and wait until I fell asleep?”

_ “. . . He only snuck me in twice— _ Look _ , I’m not gonna  _ lie _ to you, man. Usually we just hung out at parties. Sometimes he’d have me pick him up after school . . . What do you want me to  _ say _ , Barley? It’s  _ done _. I  _ did _ it. I know you probably fuckin’ hate me, but I wanted to call and apologize anyway. That’s all I can do.” _

Barley couldn’t help imagining Jay and his beat up car, picking Ian up from school. Or worse, his old Snarley Davidson motorcycle. It was such an ugly image, Barley’s rough, callous-fingered friend waiting outside the high school for Ian, who was likely holding onto the straps of his backpack and moving with a bounce in his step. 

...Was that Barley, too? 

Was this whole experience just a grime-caked mirror? Had Ian begged Jay to pull over at the same rest stop where  _ they’d _ fooled around? Anguish tightened Barley’s chest, a lump forming in his throat. He tried desperately to remember what Ian had said about them, to remind himself why he wasn’t horrible for wanting to be with Ian. He tried and struggled to separate himself from this person on the phone. How many conversations with Barley had Jay suffered through, just to get to his brother? 

Barley found himself calming down, finally. Because there was only one person he hated more than Jay right now. Barley spoke with a hollow tone. “I don’t hate you, Jay. But I don’t trust you either. Not right now.”

_“I don’t blame you for a_ second _, man . . . But,_ look _. . . He told me a couple weeks ago he was breaking it off. He said he met someone—”_ a pause, _“Someone else—_ better _, I guess . . . So, you don’t have to worry about_ me _. He only called today to tell me I got caught with my pants down, and to rub how happy he is with this_ new guy _in my fucking face . . . Whoever this guy is, he’s really wrapped up in him. He . . .”_ another pause, _“he likes him_ a lot _. A-And I’m_ happy _for him. But_ look _, man, you don’t owe me a single fucking thing . . . But promise me you’re gonna keep an eye on him? He’s . . ._ Ian’s _special. You already_ know _that. He’s a good kid. He deserves a good guy . . . Can you do that for me?_ Watch _him?”_

The fight had been taken out of Barley by the time he managed an answer. It was flat and resigned. "I really don't need you to tell me to watch my own brother. Or I don't know, maybe I do, since I was clearly too oblivious to  _ catch _ you. Is there anything else?" 

A long pause followed Barley’s final inquiry, the man on the phone offering a heavy sigh before answering:

_ “H- _ Hey _ , so . . . Just hear me out: I know this isn’t something you wanna hear right now . . . But—Have you noticed any  _ bruises _? On Ian? . . . I tried to get him to talk to me but— _ Look _ , man, you know I’m not that bright, and I’m not any good at comforting people. And,  _ shit _ , I didn’t want to scare him  _ off _ . . . But, I think someone’s . . . I think someone’s  _ hurting _ him . . . And you need to know. That’s your  _ **_baby brother._ ** _ He can’t  _ run _ from  _ you _.  _ **_Do_ ** _ something about it.” _

Barley hung up the phone. He stuffed it in his pocket and stood there, staring unseeingly across the street. He felt like screaming, but he did nothing. His ears were ringing, and he heard nothing but an echo of what had just been said.

_ ‘...I think someone’s hurtin’ him... _

_...He can’t run from you... _ ’

Barley took an unsteady step forward, and then another, wandering aimlessly forward until he was behind the van. And then all the muscles in him tightened up like a rubber band being pulled taut, and he snapped. 

He slammed his fist against the back of the van once, twice, and then the third time the back window shattered. Little flecks of safety glass exploded, most of them pouring into the van while plenty flew outward onto Barley and the driveway. He took a step back, stunned.

Inside, flourished ears perked; Ian’s head snapping toward the direction of the living room—only to see Colt and Laurel conversing overtop of the blaring television . . . But he was  _ so sure  _ he’d heard . . .  _ something _ .

He rinsed his hands, leaving the dishes to soak for a bit longer in favor of pursuing the sound. Padding through the living area—casting a smile at Colt (who smiled back)—while Laurel remained distracted by her primetime showcase; then exited the front door and allowed his eyes to absorb the neighborhood.

He didn’t see anything . . . At first.

A few neighbors taking out their trash, a few unicorns lazing about readied to  _ consume _ said trash . . . And the edge of a broad shoulder behind Guinevere.

“Barley?” Ian called, unsure if he should attempt to smile in his brother’s face, or remain neutral as he approached. 

But as he stepped closer—a splash of glass on the sidewalk urged his willowy legs to carry him more quickly—rounding the van to find his brother observing the back of his vehicle; a distant look in his golden eyes.

“ **_Barley_ ** ?! What the  **_fuck_ ** , man? What’s  **going on** here?” his voice escalated as he searched his brother’s face for an answer; receiving nothing in return. 

And so he scoffed, reaching to grab the gamer’s fist—actively dripping fresh blood onto the pavement—observing it with a combination of a sigh and a seeth. 

“W-What is  **_going on with you_ ** ?!  _ Why _ would you—Where are your  _ keys _ ?”

Blinking away the red in his eyes, Barley turned to meet Ian’s concerned gaze. “Uh…” He pulled his keys from his pocket and showed them to Ian. “Why do you need my keys?”

Snatching the keys from his brother’s (non-bloodied) fist and practically shoving him around the vehicle and toward the passenger’s side door, Ian gritted his teeth to stave off his onslaught of inquiries.

But, it didn’t stave off his panic.

“I-I’m taking you to the fucking  _ ER _ , obviously! I-I-I leave you alone for what,  _ fifteen _ fucking minutes and I hear all this banging, come outside: And  _ Gwinny’s _ fucked up, your  _ hand’s _ fucked up, you’re acting like you saw a fucking  _ Titan _ — _ Just _ —Just get in the van, Barley.”

"I don't need to go to the ER," Barley said with exasperation. He examined his hand, wincing as he pulled out a little cube of glass. He thought about having messed up his hand at the picnic and frowned. Was this who he was? The kind of guy who ‘put holes in the wall’ when he was angry? "I really don't think I need to go," he insisted.

Ian stared at him blankly for a moment, stomach turning as he pulled glass from his knuckles with his unwashed fingers. 

“Then what do you want me to  _ do _ , man? Stand here a-a-and watch you  _ bleed _ ?  _ What _ —What if you broke your knuckles? What if there’s glass under your skin?” Ian pressed, eyes alight with determination. “Just—Can you tell me what I can do to  _ help _ , at least?”

Looking around at the mess, Barley mumbled with embarrassment. "Yeah… could you get the broom and dustpan for me?" He pulled up the hem of his t-shirt and dabbed at his hand. 

Ian’s skin crawled as he watched the Quest Master dab at his would with the hem of his dirty shirt.

“B- _ Barley _ ?!  **_Stop_ ** !” he barked, smacking his elder’s dabbing hand away before rounding to skitter back into the house. 

“I-I’ll _get_ _you_ something for that,” he called before crossing the threshold, locating the items his sibling had requested (in addition to a few paper towels)—pausing only to inform his mother that the items were required for a mess made in the back of Guinevere.

By the time he’d returned to Barley’s side, he noticed the wound had already begun to clot, but handed his elder the paper towels regardless. 

“ _ Talk _ to me,” he bossed; tone harsher than he’d intended, and bordering on a tremble.

He set about sweeping up the glass, tossing a look over the slope of his shoulder as if awaiting his answer: 

“ **_Talk_ ** .”

Barley sighed. He held the paper towel to his hand, and a few drops of blood came through. It was less than would have just minutes ago, which was good. “Where do I start?” He looked out across the lawn and down the road, staring at nothing. “He said… he said he was worried about you. Used to see bruises on your body. But I already know now it’s the guys from school. Still, that got me thinking about Jay. If he was seeing bruises on you and worrying, it meant that Jay himself wasn’t causing any. Thirty-year-old biker Jay who works at the pawn shop takes better care of you than your own brother?”

Ian barked a bitter laugh; shaking his head as he finished sweeping up the glass and crouched to collect it in the dustpan. 

“Oh, he put bruises on me, alright,” he frowned, but softened a moment later. “B-But only the ones I  _ asked  _ him for . . . Barley,  _ listen  _ to me,” Ian pressed, taking a stand and closing the latch on the dustpan.

“Did you ever stop to think that  _ maybe _ —I dunno—You didn’t see the bruises on me because I was  _ hiding _ them from you? O-Or because you weren’t  _ fucking _ me yet?” Ian reasoned; more than a bit of edge in his voice. “A-And  _ maybe _ I was hiding things from you, because I fucking  _ love _ you, and I didn’t wanna  _ hurt _ you, man,” he spat, eying the broken window behind Barley and tsking.

“But I don’t love  _ this _ ,” he paused to motion to Barley’s fist. “I-I don’t love this  _ stranger _ , who—who shows up and destroys something every time he finds out I’m not fucking  _ perfect _ ,” Ian deadpanned, thunderclouds in his valentine eyes.

“I-I know you would  _ never _ hurt me, Barley. So why are you hurting  _ yourself _ ? I-It’s like every day for the last  _ week _ , you’ve been a fucking  _ wreck _ . How do you think that makes  _ me _ feel? D-Do you  _ know _ how that makes me feel? Like I came into your life and I’m fucking it up . . . A-A-And I’m  _ hurting _ you, and it’s hurting  _ me _ . We just—We’ve  _ gotta _ figure this out, Barley.  **_Now_ ** . Can you just tell me how you’re feeling?”

No. No, no, no. That was the last thing in the world Barley wanted to do. His chest heaved, thoughts blurring in a whirlwind through his mind. “I feel helpless… I feel like I’ve failed. Last week I didn’t know you were being bullied and...  _ abused _ . And now I still can’t do anything to protect you. And I know that’s probably not even what you need! You need support, you need me to be strong, but I just think about what’s happening to you and-” Barley voice broke. “I can’t stand it.” 

Barley was silently crying now, and he furiously scrubbed at his face with his good hand. He didn’t want to be seen this way. Not by anyone, and especially not by Ian. Ian was quiet, and in the silence Barley stammered on.

“Talking to Jay made me wonder if what we have is temporary. Because I’m no better than him, I’m no more worthy of you. And someday when you meet the right person, some clean-cut guy who drives a sedan and doesn’t go to concerts, I’m going to be making this call, telling that guy to be good to you.”

Barley leaned against the back of his van, sliding down to sit on the edge of the bumper. He sniffled, wiping his face with the blood-spotted paper towel. He looked at it, crumpled and dirty, and turned it over in his hands. “I don’t want this to be a mistake, but I know I’m not what you need.”

Ian listened on, brows furrowing and eyes softening at the dusky display of emotion pouring out of his brother . . . It was as though all the troubles from his failed attempt at Game Night had come crashing out of him; freshly blended with some bleak new compound.

He swallowed, taking a few steps forward and crouching beneath his elder’s eye level, nestled just between his knees. Doe-eyes settled on the clotting blood along his brother’s hand; weighing his options, mind alight with possible scenarios . . . 

In his sibling’s description of ‘right person’,  _ another  _ man came to mind. 

One not so very different from the man falling to pieces before him—

“ _ Look _ at me,” Ian pleaded, lips pressed into a tight line as he brought a soft hand to light upon a tense forearm. 

After a few more frustrated sobs and rubs of his bleary eyes, Barley’s reddened gaze timidly rose to meet his sibling’s. 

“What do  _ you _ want to do? Is  _ this _ . . . Is  _ this _ too hard?” the little mage inquired, a crack in his voice as his tongue tasted the poison of his own words.

“B-Because  _ I’m _ —When we’re together? I-I’m  _ happy _ ,” he smiled, taking a deep breath as he observed a few more stray tears rolling down his brother’s bristled cheeks. “But  _ you _ haven’t been very happy . . . Not since—” he paused for a shuddering sigh. “Not since the day you asked me to be  _ honest _ with you. A-And not since the first day we . . . You just—I want you to be  _ happy _ , Barley. Can you let me help you? Be happy?”

Barley blinked away the wetness in his lashes and looked up at Ian, crouching down in front of him. There was so much Barley needed to say, so much he needed Ian to know. But it was stuck. The feelings had bottlenecked in the back of his throat, and nothing would come out at all. He swallowed thickly and nodded, squeezing Ian’s hand. 

Ian nodded back, laboring to keep his own emotions at bay at the weakness of the hand that squeezed his own. 

A hand that had once held him so tightly, pulling him from his infinite plummet two years prior at a well-worn drawbridge; now felt like a shadow of its former glory.

“We’ve . . . We need to  _ talk _ about this, but—We need to go  _ inside _ ,” Ian reasoned, reaching to wipe a few stray tears from his brother’s barbed cheeks. “C-Can you keep it together for me? And  _ no _ unicorns,” he attempted a smile.

With this, he took a languid stand; offering a hand to his elder as if the gentle giant wouldn’t tower over him in the end. 

In one hand he guided Barley inside, and in the other, he brought the broom along with him, lying it against the trim of the door. Upon entering their home, he released his hold on Barley and gently shoved him toward the stairs.

Right on cue, Laurel leaned forward in her seat, catching sight of the blood on her oldest son’s hand even through the dimness of the living room; but Ian pointed up the stairs as Barley turned to explain himself, silencing him.

“He’s  _ fine _ , mom. He got excited and slammed Gwinny shut, but he was pushing on the glass like a freakin’ idiot—”

“ _ Ian _ !” Laurel scolded, a frown marring her sympathy.

“His hand’s just a little cut. But, the  _ window _ didn’t make it. I-I’m gonna go help him clean up,” Ian informed, but Laurel was already taking a stand.

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t need my help?” she asked, pursing her lips as her gifted youngest turned to walk away, shaking his head.

“I _got_ _this_ , Mom. We’ve been licking each other’s wounds for years. You _know_ this,” he smirked, causing Laurel to shake her head, offering him a little smirk in return.

“Well,  _ alright _ . But if he needs  _ stitches _ , we need to go to the  _ hospital _ !” she called, watching her son’s willowy form bounce up the stairs after his elder.

Barley was already in the restroom when Ian arrived; sitting on the edge of the tub, looking dazed.

“ _ C’mon, _ babe. Wash it up for me so I can take a look,” Ian spoke; tone taking on a guise of firm, clear instruction as he pulled the First Aid kit from the cabinet.

Following the instructions as they were given, Barley lumbered over to the sink and washed his hand, lathering up with a bar of soap and then yelping when he tried to wash his cut. The sting snapped him out of the numbness he’d been feeling. Hissing, he immediately tried to rinse it out. “Okay, I admit that maybe this was a little stupid. But to be fair…” He trailed off and then said. “It was stupid.”

After drying his hand with the towel Ian offered, he held his hand out for whatever his brother had planned next.

Ian pulled a petite pair of tweezers and a magnifying card from the box, holding the card up to the wound with one hand, and pivoting his brother’s calloused fist—this way and that—in the other. 

“Okay,  _ fine _ ,” he muttered, replacing the card and the tweezers, but rose to plant a frustrated kiss upon Barley’s lips. “I  _ love _ you,” he began, lashes lowered. “But if you don’t get into that shower, and actually  _ wash _ , I-I’m asking Colt to take you to the shooting range tomorrow.” 

His tone eased into an air of humor as he went, leaning in for another kiss before pulling back to watch for a reaction.

Barley made an incredulous noise in the back of his throat. The threat of having to go to the range with Colt was truly intimidating. The man could spend forty five minutes talking about the importance of properly cleaning one’s piece. Barley would rather do virtually anything else. 

“But I don’t want to,” he said feebly. “And it’s going to sting my cut.” 

Ian rolled his eyes, front teeth exposed as he gnawed his lower lip. 

“Then . . . maybe you should stop beating up every inanimate object you see, as soon as you hear about any boy I kissed before  _ you _ ,” he chuckled; but his tone held an air of seriousness.

He crossed his arms then, holding the adventurer’s gaze as he watched a flush bloom upon his ruggedly handsome face. 

“Y-You gotta save some of that aggression for  _ me _ , or I’m gonna think you’re getting bored,” he added with a bat of his lashes, chuckling as he fell out of his role. “Go shower. I’m not leaving.”

Barley felt a little better now, a momentary peace in the gently lit confines of the bathroom. Ian’s smile was disarming, and his playfulness was irresistible. Huffing, he turned on the shower and took off his shirt. Ian was still watching when he turned back, and he covered his nipples with his hands and gave Ian a scandalized glare. “Don’t look at me,” he hissed.

The conjurer scoffed, waving his burly companion into the shower; though he was appreciative for the man’s shift in mood—even if perhaps it was only on the surface. Once his elder had finished disrobing and separated them with the shower curtain, Iandore turned to leaf through the kit; pulling out antibiotic ointment, gauze and bandage. 

“So . . . How  _ was _ he?  _ Jay _ , I mean. Were you  _ nice _ to him?” he inquired, hearing his brother’s motions cease beneath the water. But only for an instant.

Barley bristled on the other side of the shower curtain. And then he continued, scrubbing his skin and hair with bar soap. “I told him I was gonna rip his arms off next time I saw him.”

Ian shot a pout at the curtain, brows furrowing as he cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before continuing. 

“W-Well  _ that _ doesn’t sound very nice,” he chided, swallowing before studying his reflection in the slowly fogging mirror. 

He looked . . . lost. Frazzled. Not the way he wanted to appear at all, when Barley clearly needed him. 

“Was that all you had to  _ say _ to him?”

“I didn’t really say that,” Barley mumbled. He began to squirt a little of each family member’s preferred shampoo into his hand, until he’d amassed a handful of conflicting scents. He then proceeded to use it as body wash, mostly just to kill time and avoid getting out and facing Ian again. He said, “I told Jay that it was fine and you two should get married.”

Tsking as he cast a disgruntled glance at himself in the mirror, Ian turned to rest his rear against the sink once again, hearing several bottles being opened and closed. 

“I-I’m  _ serious _ , Barley. Your friends are  _ nice _ guys. No reason to be  _ mean _ to them,” he warned. “A-And, stop using  _ my _ stuff. It’s  _ expensive _ , and  _ mom _ pays for it.”

Ignoring him, Barley picked up Ian's nice razor and contemplated shaving his legs with it. In the end he decided not to, because he didn't want shaved legs.

"All right, how about this? If you admit that there's at least  _ something _ wrong with a guy's friend sneaking behind his back to hook up with his little brother, I'll be honest with you. About the phone call, and about more than the phone call. About Jay and my music friends in general."

Rounded eyes rolled, and a sigh was heaved; the svelte wizard winding his arms around his lanky form as he pursed his lips. He gave himself a moment, pushing past his initial flare-up of thoughts involving his freedom of choice, trying to consider Barley’s feelings for a moment . . . 

“ _ Fine _ . You’re  _ right _ . W-We should have  _ told _ you.  _ And _ . . . I’m sorry for sneaking behind your back. I-I didn’t have to go after your  _ friends _ ,” Ian admitted, cheeks heating at his own admittance. 

Even if it was forced, it still felt nice to apologize. Though if he were being honest with himself, Ian knew his brother deserved a more sincere apology.

For a moment, Barley just let the water run. Finally being validated made him feel a little better. Just a little. He shut the water off so it was easier to speak. “Well, Jay apologized, and I said some… not nice things. He told me to look out for you, and then I hung up. I’m still pissed at him, but I think I might not be forever. The thing is,” he paused, taking a breath, “in some small way, I get him. And the other two, whoever they are. Because anyone who could resist you is probably crazy.”

Upon hearing his brother’s final comments, Ian’s pout softened into a small smile; blameless eyes studying the patterns of condensation beading upon the wall across from him. He wasn’t sure how to approach the compliment—but for the moment, he was walking on air—heat rushing to his cheeks as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I-I dunno about all  _ that _ ,” he murmured, more softly than he’d intended. “I’m . . . glad to hear you don’t  _ hate _ him. I-I  _ promise _ , you guys’ll be chugging drinks and moshing to Orcblood in no time.” 

He chuckled to himself at the vision it brought to his mind; never having been brave enough to accompany his brother to one of his chosen venues. But he wondered if perhaps it was time for that to change. 

“Next year, we’re gonna look back on all this, and  _ laugh _ .”

A half-hearted smile reached Barley’s face. The truth was, there was still so much to think about, reasons for Barley to doubt himself. He was glad, at least, that they’d found peace over this one subject. “Yeah,” he said. “And you know, if you don’t want to tell me who the other two are, that’s fine. You said they were nice, so… yeah. I’m just gonna get over it.”

The enchanter breathed a sigh of relief, happy that at least Barley’s inquisition was at its end. 

“I-I think that’s . . . I’m  _ glad _ ,” Ian decided, glancing at the curtain with a quirked brow. “B-But I kinda need you to hurry up and rinse off so I can treat your hand,” he chuckled, the image of the Quest Master standing there covered in patches of soap bringing a grin to his lips. 

“I’m rinsed,” Barley said, pushing back the curtain. He grabbed a towel and patted dry, and then tied it around his waist. He came over to Ian, obediently offering a broad fist. 

“O- _ Oh _ ,” Ian flushed anew as his brother revealed himself as if it were the most natural thing in the world; but found himself swallowing his disappointment as a towel obscured his nudity. “Didn’t know. Thought you were just standing there  _ covered _ in  **_my_ ** soap,” he playfully boxed his elder’s gut, before reaching for the supplies he’d readied.

“Smells better on  _ you _ , though,” he smiled wryly, carefully applying the ointment, then applying the gauze and bandage wrap. 

When he was finished, he couldn’t help but admire the hand he held; nicks and scars creating a roadmap of memories made both with and without Ian. 

But  _ this _ one and the last, were created in dedication to him. 

And that would make them special.

“Leave that on for the night. Take it off in the morning so it can breathe,” he smiled, leaning up to catch Barley’s lips in a kiss he’d not intended to be aggressive. 

But it  _ had  _ been. 

“Go get dressed.”

“Th-Thanks,” Barley said, surprised by the kiss. He gazed appreciatively at Ian for a second longer before grabbing his clothes and stepping out of the bathroom, heading downstairs. In his room he dug through his laundry, smelling the pits of t-shirts until he found a clean one. He put on the deodorant Ian had given him, and then the clean shirt. Boxers and sweatpants followed suit, and he stretched out in bed. As inconvenient as it was to take showers, he couldn’t deny that it felt nice afterward. And smelling like Ian’s shampoo had his nerves easing up. But only a little. 

He reached for his phone and opened his texts to Ian, and his stress level started to climb again. He asked Ian if he still wanted to talk, and if he wanted Barley to come up. He wanted to come up again, of course, but the talking part had him feeling a little sick.

The young mage had been leafing through one of his father’s old novels when he’d received Barley’s text; setting his book aside to answer back as swiftly as his fingers would allow.

_ ‘Ian: Sure. You could have just come up.’ _

With this, he gave himself a cursory once-over—having stripped down to his trademark loungewear, a hoodie and a pair of dolphin shorts—before returning to his novel. Barley’s arrival hadn’t been immediate, but  _ was  _ announced by a soft knocking. A bit softer than Ian was accustomed to, in fact.

“Come in,” he called, placing a bookmark in his novel before setting it upon his nightstand, adjusting his position to make room for his elder.

As Barley entered, he gave Ian a lopsided, half-smile and sat down in the space Ian had provided. The bed sunk as he sat and got comfortable. “Hey,” he said, sounding a shade winded. He glanced at the bedside table and saw that Ian was reading one of their dad’s books, one that he’d enjoyed. “How’s the book?”

Ian flushed as he instinctively wished he’d tucked the book away; but played it off with an uneasy smile. 

“Kinda . . .  _ good _ . Better than I  _ thought _ ,” he admitted, but quickly changed the subject. “How’s your  _ hand _ ? Gwinny messed you up worse than the plates did at the park,” he recalled with a sigh, brows furrowing as he allowed his eyes to trail up his sibling’s arm. 

He couldn’t help but involuntarily hum his approval, attempting to mask it with a clear of his throat. 

“Y-You must have . . . punched more than once?”

Barley was distracted by his own self-consciousness as he moved to look at his hands, and the neat, white bandages over one of them. “Yeah, maybe. I mean, There was a lot going on. A lot to think about.” He glanced Ian’s way, passively taking in the oversized sweatshirt and simple shorts he wore, both of which looked cute on him. 

A quick sigh and a thick swallow; and Ian was shaking his head softly. 

“O-Okay, well—What were you  _ thinking _ about? So he—he called to  _ apologize _ , told you to look after me—or  _ whatever _ . A-And you were  _ mean _ to him—So where did all these . . .  _ other _ thoughts come from?” Ian inquired, tone lilting towards urgency.

“I-I just . . . We need to make some  _ decisions _ , Barley . . . We’ve gotta work this out. You keep—Yesterday, and now  _ today _ ? You’ve made it sound like you wanna break things off,” he pressed, hands curling into fists as he finished his sentence. “I-Is that . . . Do you  _ want _ that? I-I-I asked you outside already _ ; is this too hard _ ?”

The idea of that was terrifying, and Barley immediately reached for Ian’s closest hand, squeezing it in his own. “No,” he said firmly. “No it isn’t hard, and no, I definitely don’t want it to end. I’m not having doubts about you, or about us, I’m… having doubts about myself. I mean, I don’t hate myself or anything. I’m happy being me. But I never imagined you being someone like me. ...or Jay.”

Ian’s brows knitted together as he mused, breathing in slowly and trying to metabolize what his brother needed to hear. 

He thought back to the two men he admired most in his life; and how the two mirrored each other as he’d learned about them throughout his childhood.

And  _ now _ into his adulthood.

Two heroes—one bound to the past, and one bound to the present—dual faces on a single shilling.

“You know . . . I told you  _ before _ that you’ve always set the standard. Maybe not as clearly as I should have, but . . . I’ve  _ tried _ to. A-And I know sometimes, it's hard to believe the things people say. Even when you  _ know _ they love you. I mean, look at  _ me _ ,” he sighed, offering a wistful smile as he adjusted his hand within his elder’s to grasp it.

“You say things to  _ me _ that . . . I  _ know _ I don’t deserve. O-Or at least, I don’t  _ feel _ like I do _. Y’know _ ? The  _ bad _ stuff we hear . . . That  _ sticks _ . And sometimes it's hard to accept when someone tells us the  _ truth _ . We . . . We don’t wanna  _ hear _ it. We—We get  _ comfortable _ just believing that we’re not worth anything,” he paused to offer his brother’s calloused fingers a loving squeeze.

“But . . . believe me when I say that I’ve grown up seeing, watching and learning about the kind of men I wanted to be with. A-And you’re . . . You’re that  _ guy _ . Everyone  _ else _ is just . . . me trying to find the next-best thing.”

For a while, Barley was at a loss for words, just tightly holding Ian’s hand. He gave the delicate fingers a break when he reached up to wipe his eyes. Barley sniffled, but he wasn’t sobbing like he’d been outside. 

“There’s something else Jay said. It was in a different context, but it was... He said, ‘ _That’s your baby brother._ _He can’t_ run _from_ you _._ ’ I just… if your feelings ever change someday, I don’t want you to feel trapped, like you can’t get away from me. Because I’m your brother, and because we have this secret. I would never want you to feel that way.” He took Ian’s hand again and smiled at him nervously. “Although I’m really, really, _really_ hoping that doesn’t happen.”

His sibling’s voice ringing with sincerity (and a bit of pleading), Ian’s eyes softened further. He reached out, gliding a soft thumb across the lobe and shell of the adventurer’s spaded ear, hoping the action would soothe him. 

“We’ve still got . . . a _lot_ of growing up to do. I-I don’t know what my future holds, but I know I want you in it,” his smile held a hint of wistfulness, but it was honest. “And I feel the _same_ _way_ , Barley. I don’t want—If you ever felt like things were . . . _too much_? I want you to _tell_ me,” he advised, though the context of his offer caused his chest to ache. “So, are we ready to talk about . . . your _hand_? I-It’s happened _twice_ , now. And I—I think we need to _talk_ about it.” 

Ian’s gentle touch and soft words eased Barley’s tension considerably. But confusion set in soon after. Frowning, he said, “My hand? Didn’t we just talk about everything to do with that? Like… our  _ feelings _ ?”

“ _Barley_ ,” Ian sighed, shaking his head and slipping his hand from his gamer’s ear to his barbed jaw. “ _Look_ , I’m . . . I’m gonna be _honest_ with you,” he swallowed, taking a breath. “I’ve been feeling so, _so_ _happy_ lately. When things are _good_ ,” he paused, letting his hand slide lower, resting upon his sibling’s solid shoulder.

“But . . . I tell you things, because I—I really wanna share things with you, a-and  _ trust _ you . . . But when I do? You’re . . . You get—You  _ scare _ me,” he admitted, brows pinched in concern as chocolate caught caramel. “You start getting  _ pushy _ , and asking for names, and sometimes  **_this_ ** happens,” he motioned to the bandage across his elder’s knuckles, shaking his head.

“A-And I _know_ it sucks, and I _know_ it hurts, but I _need_ . . . I’m trying to _be_ _better_ for you— ** _Get_** _better_ for you. And I’m trying to be _honest_ with you. And when you _lose_ it, I clam up. I-It makes me feel like, I have to keep . . . I’ve gotta keep on _hiding_ things.”

Sobered out of any emotional landslide he’d been in, Barley shifted so that he could look more directly at Ian. “That is the  _ last _ thing I want. I never want you to feel like you have to hide something from me.” He looked down at his hand, which was sore beneath the bandage, and then gestured to it. “This isn’t me. This is…” he tapped at the bandage. “This is going to change.”

The frail magician’s hand slipped from his shoulder then, weaving back into his elder’s fingers against the bed. 

“Okay, well . . . C-Can you tell me what’s making you  _ do _ this? Do you even  _ know _ ? I-Is something triggering this . . .  _ violence _ ?” 

His last word was almost a whisper, the sudden association it held with his gentle, playful, jubilant brother felt unfair and venomous. 

“What’s . . . what’s it  _ like _ ? When this happens?”

Chewing on his lip, Barley thought it over. “I guess… it’s situations where I can’t protect you. And I can’t do anything, I can’t save you, and It’s like this desperate need to  _ do something, _ and it just gets worse until I need to take action. Since I don’t have names, I end up snapping at the picnic basket. Although today, I was angry at myself. Maybe I broke the window because I care about Gwinny.”

Barley continued. “But like I said, I don’t want to make a habit out of this. I’m not going to become that guy who punches holes in his walls whenever he’s mad. I think…” he heaved a sigh. “I think I have to stop trying to fix everything for you. Some things, sure, I’d do anything you needed, but maybe you need somebody to listen instead of fight?” He shrugged, looking to Ian for reassurance.

Ian’s face lifted from concern, into an empathetic smile as his brother allowed him an inside-view of his inner-workings. It made sense, and as he’d known all along, it wasn’t as though Barley was a dangerous man. At least, not toward  _ him _ . It was a complicated circumstance, being made more complicated by the threat of danger surrounding the junior Lightfoot.

“You  _ know _ . . . I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fight  _ anyone _ . . . Not since the Pixie Dusters,” he laughed, confection-hued eyes gleaming softly in the evening light. “But, i-if it comes to that . . . Promise you won’t get  _ hurt _ ?”

His voice was soft as he finished, thin fingers unwinding from Barley’s as he changed positions on the bed—switching to an awkward kneel—steadying himself against his elder.

“Though, I kinda  _ like _ patching you up . . . Making you feel better,” he murmured, craning to bring their lips together in a kiss more gentle than his instincts were urging. “Betcha I could make you feel even better yet.”

“O-Oh,” Barley said stupidly, not having expected the welcomed change in direction. Barley reached for him, large hands brushing along Ian’s face and holding him at the nape of his neck. “We’d have to be careful. They’re awake…” But he knew he couldn’t resist Ian now, not the way he was kneeling and looking at Barley under those long lashes. Thinking back on it, Jay would have never stood a chance. 

“You’re  _ right _ . . . Should we  _ wait _ ?” he inquired, tone relaying an innocence not reflected in his eyes. But the look of dismay that washed over Barley’s face at his offer, answered his question.

And so, he pressed another kiss—just a bit deeper—against the fabler’s awaiting mouth. But he didn’t ask for entrance. Not just yet, at least; pulling back to catch the flaxen gaze of his elder to read the mood.

“I-I’m really glad we talked, Barley,” he smiled, feathering kisses along the man’s jaw before reaching his apexed ear. “I like it when you open up,” he whispered, tongue darting to caress the freshly-washed shell before trailing more kisses down and along his bristled neck.

“Tell me how to make you feel better?” he murmured as he pulled back, eyes once again locking onto Barley’s as he awaited his answer.

Barley’s heart was already thudding away in his chest, and he was feeling dazed after just a few kisses. He wanted this so badly, to feel good again and even more, to make Ian feel good. “I-I think I’d feel better with the door closed,” he said, and then smiled apologetically. He shifted and went to the door, locking it before he joined Ian once more on the bed.

He kissed Ian deeply, and when they pulled away, he spoke against his younger brother’s lips. “I wish I could say something smart or subtle, but I just really want to be inside you again."

The words uttered before the fullness of his lips made Iandore’s head swim, forcing a hum from his throat as soon as he’d heard the word ‘ _ inside’ _ . 

“I-I’m a little sore, but—” he paused for another kiss, “—I want the same thing.”

As he finished his admittance, he mused over the possibilities; memories of the night prior causing him to wonder if his bed would withstand his brother’s might.

But those were considerations for later.

For now, lithe hands would leaf beneath a faded band-tee in search of clean, warm skin. Full lips finally allowed themselves to press greedy kisses into a bristled mouth, as calloused hands reached to tug an oversized hoodie from shallow plains of pastel skin.

Before long, the mismatched pair were half-dressed—bulk and muscle pressing against delicate ribs and fresh bruises in a slow, deliberate display of exploration. Briefly, Ian wondered if every time he felt the rippling tension of his sibling’s strength, it would always feel like the first time. The protection and safety he found in the broad form flush against his own was unmatched by any who had come before it.

And he  _ also _ contemplated the possibility that his brother  _ knew _ the influence his strength had over him.

“I love the way your hands feel on me.”

“Well I love the way you feel against my hands,” Barley responded. 

He settled down on his side, Ian lying in front of him as they kissed. Ian was only wearing his shorts now, and Barley reached for him, groping through the soft cotton. 

A moment later they were frantic again, pulling off the remainder of their clothes. Barley made himself comfortable between Ian's legs, sucking down his pretty, pink-tipped cock.

Carefully trimmed nails sunk into the soft down of his comforter at the welcome warmth around his cock; Ian’s back arching into the pleasure pooling in his loins as he bit back a gasp. 

“F- _ Fuck _ —Your mouth is so amazing,” he murmured, staving off a groan.

As his brother’s enthusiasm increased—before he lost himself entirely—he offered the Quest Master a gentle pat on his forearm, breaking his actions. 

“I-I’m gonna get the lube,” he offered between breaths, sliding out from beneath Barley to fish a colorful bottle from the top drawer of his nightstand. 

Then, slipping back into his previous position, he handed the adventurer his parcel. 

“Sorry they’re always  _ flavored _ ,” he smiled, eyes thick with lust. “W-We can get different ones you might like better.”

“No complaints here,” Barley said as he poured some onto his fingers and slicked them. He kissed Ian’s thigh as he gently pushed the end of his finger into his brother’s entrance. He pushed it deeper and felt a reflexive clench, along with a whimper from above. Barley stopped moving, meeting his eyes with concern. He remembered that Ian was sore, and felt a small pang of guilt. “Hey, if you need more time, we don’t have to do this tonight. We could just mess around, do something easier on you?”

Shaking his head with a determined pout, Ian drew a slow, steady breath before answering. 

“I-I wanna get used to you,” he smiled meekly, knowing all-too-well that if he let himself heal entirely, he’d have to adjust to Barley’s girth all over again. 

It had  _ already _ been a full day . . . 

“I  _ trust  _ you. You wouldn’t hurt me,” he pressed, nodding as he forced himself to relax, attempting to keep his breathing steady. “It’ll feel good once you’re inside.”

Barley’s ears darkened, his expression somewhere between bashful and smitten. He continued his ministrations, working Ian open and occasionally asking if he was still alright. When Ian had reached three fingers, Barley shifted upward, still lazily thrusting into his hole as he kissed Ian’s tummy and chest. He licked and blew on Ian’s nipples until they rose into little peaks, and sucked them until he’d left marks. 

The look in Barley’s eyes as he worked him was already almost enough to push the spellcaster over the edge; but the hungry mouth on his nipples reminded him that, yes, there was a way for his sibling to pleasure him further. At this stage, he was arching himself into the elder Lightfoot’s fingers, doe-eyes rolling back as his prostate was brushed against now and again. 

“I-I  _ want _ —I think I’m ready,” he mewled, keeping his voice as soft as he was able. 

If his body was already urging him to vocalize, what was he going to do when Barley was seated firmly inside of him?

Fingers stilling, Barley nodded and eased them out of Ian. He shifted upward, climbing over the smaller elf and peppering his face in kisses. “I wanna take good care of you,” he murmured. “Want to treat you how you deserve.” He ducked down, kissing Ian’s slender neck and collar bone. 

And then he knelt, applying a generous amount of lube to his aching length. He gave it a few cursory strokes before pressing the shiny head against Ian’s hole. He followed Ian’s breaths as a guide, pressing in further and pausing at times. The metal piercings on the underside of his cock were warm with body heat, each one making Ian shiver as it slid past his stretched ring of muscle. 

Barley was almost completely inside of him when he took another break. Ian was panting underneath him, and Barley was as well. He kissed Ian’s damp forehead and whispered, “I love you. I love you. I love this, and I love seeing you like this. I love feeling your legs wrapped around me, and your hands right where they are.” He put one of his hands over Ian’s, where it rested on his heart. “Take your time. I can back off if you need me to.”

The feeling of fullness was overwhelming. But compared with the night prior? It wasn’t unbearable.

Last night, Ian knew the wine had been his saving grace. But  _ tonight _ , he owed it all to Barley’s (saintly) patience, and his own desperation to be closer to him. 

Praise fell from bristled lips, cascading like nectar into Iandore’s flourished ears as he held his brother’s chest. It wasn’t so much to steady  _ Barley _ , as it was to ground  _ himself _ . He resisted his body’s urge to rock his hips down onto the precious remaining inches of his brother’s length; a pressure already visible through his hollow belly. 

“I love you, too,” he reminded, ghosting soft lips along the bristle of his brother’s cheek as he was granted time to adjust. “More than you know,” he smiled, a heated emotion building in his chest that threatened to spill from his kiss-swollen mouth. “You chose  _ me _ . . . over  _ anyone _ else,” he whispered, face flushing at the earnestness of the words escaping him. “A-And that means everything to me, coming from  _ you _ .” 

He swallowed the lump that had built in his throat as he’d spoken, offering a watery smile to the man sheathed inside him. “Start slow for me?” 

“Of course,” Barley promised. And then he slid back a little and pushed in again. He moved at an unhurried pace, like long waves sliding over an empty beach. Barley’s nose brushed against Ian’s, half-lidded eyes tied to Ian’s own. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, as if he wasn’t even aware of them leaving his mouth. “You feel so good, Ian. I can’t believe I can feel you inside like this… so warm.”

Velveteen praise—which under any other circumstance would have brought a flush to his sun-flecked cheeks—instead tore a shiver from Ian’s body; the sensation of being slowly filled repeatedly (though he suspected not entirely) left him glistening with sweat as his breath quickened.

“I-I’m trying to be patient—” he paused to slip his free hand across his lips to stifle a moan. “But, I just need  _ more _ ,” he breathed, eyes darkened by lust as his body yearned for him to greet his brother’s persistent thrusts. “I’m so  _ greedy _ for you.”

Barley groaned, kissing Ian harder and catching his soft lower lip between his teeth. He freed it and then took Ian’s knees, pushing them up higher. With the new angle, Barley recoiled and then let himself sink downward, burying himself to the hilt. He nearly choked on the intense tightness. 

Without reprieve, Barley began to move faster, little thrusts that kept Ian mostly full. “You can be greedy,” Barley crooned. “You can have whatever you want.”

Iandore’s vision blurred as his prostate was slammed into—but this time, not pulled away from. Barley’s motions were intense and shallow as he promised the lissome youth his heart’s desire. And as far as Ian was concerned, he was delivering. Every nerve in his body was alight with pleasure; fingers trembling in-place against his mouth as they held back mewls and moans—

“S- _ Stop _ ,” Ian croaked, breath coming in panicked hitches as his brother ground his actions to a halt; lusty gaze giving way to concern. “I-I’m just—You’re too good. I-I-I can’t take you quietly,” he stammered, attempting to steady his breathing. “C-Can we try—Can I  _ ride _ you?”

Barley gaped, and then laughed affectionately. “Uh, hell yeah?” Still chuckling, he kissed Ian’s lips and carefully slid himself out. They shifted around until Barley was on his back, looking up at Ian like his birthday had come early. “Should I do anything?”

The sudden feeling of emptiness pulled a strained whimper from Ian. But at his brother’s inquiry, he offered a shake of his head. 

“No, just . . . Lemme  _ try _ this,” the mage smiled meekly; willowy legs resting on either side of his sibling’s mass as he steadied himself above Barley’s sizable manhood.

“ _ Ready _ ?” he asked, voice merely a whisper. 

But his answer was reflected in the lust-clouded pools of Midas-gold beneath him. And so, he sank himself down—slowly and carefully—onto the gamer’s hardness; breath hitching as his body accepted each mithril barbell. And when he’d finally reached the soft thatch of hair at his brother’s base, he braved a glance down at his distended belly.

“ _ Holy fuck _ ,” he gritted, body trembling as the sight set him somewhere between aroused and nauseous. “I-I love feeling you this  _ deep _ . . .” he smiled; and even through the haze of need, his eyes were aglow with adoration. “I-Is this  _ okay _ ? Would it be better i-if I were facing the other direction?”

“No, no,  _ please _ ,” Barley slurred, feeling like he was drunk on  _ Ian _ . Large hands slid up narrow thighs and hips, one hand palming the bulge in Ian’s belly. And then it slid down, fingers wrapping around a pretty, leaking prick. Barley watched Ian with a dazed smile as he lightly squeezed. “You look just right up there,” Barley praised. 

Bucking into the hand wrapped around him on reflex, the willowy magician let a gasp slip from parted lips; channeling his passion into lifting himself from his brother’s dense girth, then plunging back down. With every rise and fall, Barley’s cock would press into (and then  _ hold _ ) Ian’s sweet spot; causing the wizard’s hardness to drool precum into the calloused grip around him.

Due to the bigger man’s length, it was difficult for Ian to find the appropriate rhythm at first, but he was making it work as best he could; and the sounds and expressions his elder was making beneath him were driving him wild. 

“I-I hope this is as good for you as it is for me,” he braved a comment—risking the chance of letting a moan escape—blameless eyes watering at the pleasure building in his abdomen. “Can’t wait to feel you cum inside me.”

“It’s not gonna take long,” Barley said in a strained voice, the hint of an apology in his tone. “I’m in heaven down here. God, babe, you feel so good. The way you move? Fuck..” He took a breath and asked, “Are you close?”

Ian’s lips reached for a lie almost instinctively; but the truth was—he wasn’t very far off either. With his prostate being mercilessly pressed against, twin pools of lusty gold peering up at him, and rough hands on his bruised skin; there were more than enough reasons to simply let himself go. 

“I-I’m really close . . . I’m a-actually _almost_ _there_ ,” he gasped, nails digging into Barley’s broad hand as his eyes seemed to lose focus. “You’re so gorgeous—I-I love when you look at me like that—"

“Ohh fff-” Barley swore, cutting Ian off. He came so suddenly he didn’t even expect it himself, his muscles going rigid as a heavy load of cum pumped into Ian’s insides. And then Barley felt Ian’s own finish, his tight body clamping around Barley’s sensitive dick like a vice grip. He choked at the over-stimulation, and wasn’t prepared when his brother’s warm cum landed across his face. 

Thoroughly mind-blown and overly filled, the wiry teen found himself swimming in white noise. Whatever he’d vocalized in his moment of release, he’d tried to choke off, but he struggled to catch himself. The pressure inside him that followed was intense but comforting; knowing he was sharing such a special closeness with his brother.

A closeness he’d been lucky enough to share  _ twice _ now, at that.

Ian’s trembling hands kept him from falling forward, steadied upon the soft hair and dense muscle of his brother’s chest . . . And then his vision cleared; doll-eyes emoting somewhere between humored and loving as he found his own orgasm painting Barley’s face.

“S- _ Sorry _ ,” he giggled lazily, brows furrowed in sympathy as he leaned to lap liquid pearl from stubble and sweat; kissing it into the quester’s panting mouth, allowing the flavor to linger between them. “You were  _ amazing _ , Barley.”

Barley smiled with slight embarrassment, thumbing away a wet drop that had landed on his cheekbone. “You don’t have to say that,” he said lightly, licking his thumb clean. He ran his hand along the vertebrae of Ian’s back, stroking gently. “I know that was a short ride for you.”

Ian flushed through his haze, chuckling as he shook his head; pressing a second kiss into his brother’s temple before allowing himself to collapse atop him. 

“ _ Hey _ , I came when you came,” he reminded, smiling as he felt his sibling’s heartbeat thud through his body. “You just don’t know how  _ good _ it feels . . . having you inside me,” he tossed languidly, too sleepy to sound humored.

It was then that he realized Barley was still sheathed within him, and he felt his lips fall into a pout. 

“If I  _ move  _ . . . it’ll all run  _ out _ ,” he whined. “I like your cum  _ inside  _ me,” he added with a discontented sigh.

Face flushing, Barley made an embarrassed noise in the back of his throat. “I can’t even- with the things you say…” His fingers brushed through the short hair at the back of Ian’s head as he gazed at him. “I like it too. I don’t know why though. Probably for some brutish primal reason.” 

Ian grinned into the sweaty chest beneath him, goosebumps lighting along his skin from the fingers at his nape. 

“What’s wrong with . . . the things I  _ say _ ?” he inquired, sleepy despite himself. 

The long day at the lake, and the heavy emotions that followed, were both taking their toll on him. 

“I wanna sleep in  _ your _ bed with  _ you _ ,” he mewled, eyes heavy. “We should have never asked for separate rooms,” he smirked again, allowing himself a lazy chuckle.

“I don’t know about you, but I wanted a separate room around the same time I discovered jerking off. Now that we can jerk each other off, yeah, separate rooms aren’t necessary.” Barley gently eased himself out of Ian, leaning on his elbows as he watched creamy cum gush out of Ian as they separated. 

Ian—eyes closed—gave his brother’s meaty chest a slap at his jest; but winced a moment later as he was emptied out with a subtle ‘pop’, as if though been uncorked. The feeling of emptiness tore another little whimper from him, but he found himself  _ more  _ incensed at the salacious gaze carefully studying his cream-oozing rear. 

“W-Why are you  _ looking _ at it?” he whinged, far too lazy to offer anything but another weak slap as he felt dense warmth drizzle out of him. “Don’t  _ stare _ ,” he mumbled pitifully, eyes dropping to his brother’s hair-dusted chest; finding himself unwilling to meet his eyes.

“It’s hot,” Barley murmured, tilting his head a bit as he looked. His dick had finally slipped out of Ian, followed by a more prominent pearlescent drizzle. He looked up at Ian with a childlike grin, poking his tongue out between his teeth. “Sorry. It’s just sexy. You’re sexy.”   
  


Fawn-like eyes darted here and there, Ian’s body stiffening as it emptied his brother’s ‘gift’ back onto his softening length. It was a strange (slightly somber) feeling. He felt hollow without Barley inside him, and he couldn’t help but grimace at how pathetic the thought of that was. But his elder’s words gave him a bit of reassurance. 

If he had to be  _ pathetic _ , at least he looked sexy to Barley while doing so.

“I-I don’t  _ feel _ very sexy,” he cringed, leaning up to place a kiss against his brother’s lips. “But I like it when you tell me I am.”

With this, he forced himself to take a stand; quivering legs carrying him to his laundry basket to pluck out a towel. 

“ _ Here _ ,” he yawned, tossing it to Barley, then pulled another for himself. 

After cleaning up, he made his way back over to the bed, collecting their clothes as he went. It didn’t take long for them to redress, but his body implored him to sleep.

“I-I can meet you downstairs once you get past Mom and Colt . . .”

“Yeah,” Barley agreed. “I don’t have to sneak, though, with it being my room and all. Good luck to you.” He kissed Ian on the lips, a slightly tired, teasing smile on his face. 

Turning away, he went downstairs and turned around the banister toward his room. 

“Barley?” Laurel called, and he froze. Backing up, he went into the living room, scratching the back of his neck with discomfort. 

“Hey Mom, what’s up?”

“She looked at the bandage on his hand and shook her head. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. You might want to cover that broken window on the van.”

“Eh…”

“In the morning at the very latest, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Barley promised. Ian had wiped him out, and all he could think about was his wide, well-worn bed, and falling asleep with Ian.

“You look really tired, honey. I hope you’re not planning to stay up too much longer.”

“Nah, I’m gonna go crash now, actually.”

Colt glanced his way, blinking.

Barley smiled at both of them. “G’night!”

After they parted ways, Barley headed to his room in a hurry and texted Ian to let him know.

Listening-in for the soft bass of conversation through the walls to cease, Ian’s mind swam for an easy fix for his latest predicament; joining his brother for the night.

In honesty, he was too heavy with fatigue to do much in the way of strategizing. But for once, he didn’t feel as though he  _ needed _ to. Considering the situation at hand, there were far easier ways than  _ sneaking _ .

And so he set off, adjusting the hoodie on his slender frame before exiting his room; descending the stairs to reach the steady roar of the television—

“You did a great job on Barley’s hand, honey,” Laurel smiled—something wistful in her tone. Ian smiled back, eyes softening as he shrugged numbly.

“ _ Thanks _ , mom . . . D-Did he come through to get his ice-pack and painkillers?” he inquired, knowing very well what the answer would be. 

And right on cue, Laurel shook her head, sighing as she reclined a bit next to Colt.

“ _ No _ , he sure  _ didn’t _ ,” she tossed, eyes flitting to the direction of her older son’s door beneath the stairs.

“I got this,” he smiled; tone confident and reassuring as he offered a little thumbs-up. 

But Colt’s eyes studied him carefully; deep umber gaze narrowing at his wrists before moving to his throat . . . Though he offered the junior Lightfoot a smile in return as he watched him skitter into the kitchen.

After pulling a few anti-inflammatories from the cupboard, an ice-pack from the freezer, and a Mt.  _ Doom _ from the refrigerator; Ian flitted through the living room again. And  _ this _ time, he caught the centaur’s gaze upon him—observing his legs with an expression of concern.

But Ian held his pace; reaching his brother’s door and pushing beyond the threshold . . . 

“ _ Sorry _ ,” he sighed, cradling the items in his arms before closing them in. “Colt’s being kinda . . .  _ nosy _ these days,” he mused, approaching the bed in the dim light; handing off the pills and the ice pack, and setting his soda on the nightstand.

With this, he took a seat, waiting for his sibling to ingest his dose.

“He’s a cop, it’s his job to be nosy,” Barley said. “But yeah, I noticed too.” He accepted the pills, popping them into his mouth before he opened the can of soda and chugged down most of it. When Ian handed him the ice, he smiled, leaning against him a bit. “Thanks for all this. It was stupid for me to lose my cool like that. I appreciate you putting up with me.”

Ian smiled softly, a little flush running beneath his freckles as he was thanked and leaned against. 

“I-It’s  _ fine _ . . . You put up with me, too,” he murmured, letting himself drink-in the warmth of his elder before he found himself practically lifted; taken along with Barley as he laid them down.

Chocolate eyes studied the contours of his brother’s dense fingers—cradling the ice-pack to his knuckles—and the frail magician wondered how many more ice packs he would be supplying in the weeks to come.

“You should read me some of your campaigns sometime,” he suggested, voice small and heavy. “You used to read to me  _ all the time _ . . . You stopped when I told you I was  _ too old _ for stories,” he recalled, a little sigh laced with a scoff escaping him as he moved to catch the glimmering hazel of his elder’s stare. 

“I  _ lied _ .”

Ian’s exhaustion was mirrored in Barley, who rubbed one of his eyes with a fist. And then he closed his hand around Ian’s, pulling it to his lips to kiss his defined knuckles. “I will gladly read to you whenever you wish, Sir Iandore.” And then he pulled them closer, shifting to get comfortable. His large hand slipped under the hem of Ian’s shirt, resting on warm, familiar skin. In a teasing tone he murmured, “I’d do  _ anything _ with you, whenever you wished.” 

Smiling at the kiss, but flushing at his elder’s words; the pastel enchanter found himself musing over the possibilities . . . Things that had gone  _ unsaid _ , over the years. Things that had gone  _ untried _ . Things that had always been  _ forbidden _ —

“W- _ What _ if . . . I love the way you feel inside me,” he began, tone languid and smooth as he instinctually arched into the fingers on his skin. “I-I don’t think anyone has  _ ever _ . . . I don’t think anyone could do what  _ you _ can do . . . But what if,” he giggled lazily, eyes heavy as they peered up at his sibling through fawn-like lashes.

“ _ Maybe _ . . . I-I could be inside  _ you _ . . . sometime?”

Barley was suddenly very awake. His eyes opened, focused clearly on his brother’s features. “Y-You... Inside-” he gulped, eyes drifting down Ian’s face to the spot between his collar bones. “I’ve… never thought about being on the er, receiving end.”

All at once, Ian’s heartbeat sprang to life.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that he’d alarm the Quest Master, and the premise had his eyes rounding and his head shaking softly as he raised himself on an elbow.

“W-Well, I don’t  _ have _ to,” he quickly stammered, voice thick with sweetness on instinct as he retracted his suggestion. “I-I mean, I never  _ have _ . I-I-I probably—I wouldn’t know  _ how _ . I was just  _ saying _ things—Sorry."

“No no, uh… it’s just unexpected.” When Ian looked up and met his eye, Barley’s face was as red as could be. He chewed on his lip, studying Ian’s features. His thoughts drifted through the idea, and by the time he stopped, his ears were absolutely burning. 

Barley cleared his throat. “I think uh, I think we  _ have _ to.” They locked eyes, and Ian gave him an inquisitive look. Barley continued, “Because now that I’m picturing it, I’m… I really,  _ really _ want that.” Barley’s gaze turned down to Ian’s collar bone again, too embarrassed to look anywhere else.

Ian’s own face had rouged over considerably by the time his elder had sorted his thoughts, but his brother’s eagerness had encouraged him to relax into his previous position. 

“I-I guess it's just . . . something no one’s ever . . . I’ve never been  _ allowed _ ,” he pursed his lips, brows furrowing thoughtfully. “But . . . I  _ trust _ you. I-I know you wouldn’t  _ laugh _ at me, if . . . if I wasn’t any good,” he smiled softly, eyes unknowingly somber. “I just wanna give it a shot. I-I might not like it, and I might  _ suck _ . But . . . I wanna  _ try _ .”

Continuing to chew his lip, Barley mulled over what Ian was saying. He’d never been  _ allowed _ ?  _ Well _ . The sound of that didn’t sit well with him at all. They lied there in a comfortable silence for a few moments, Barley stroking Ian with a slow hand. Then Barley said, “I’m excited, but also a little nervous. At least we’ll both be novices, right? And you can tell me what to do.”

Flourished ears perked at his brother’s last statement, a smirk sliding across his lips that would have read as  _ devilish _ , were he anyone else. 

“Sounds nice . . . I-I  _ like _ telling you what to do,” he chuckled, leaning in to press a good-night kiss into his brother’s broad jaw. “We’ll figure it out,” he decided, adjusting to shut off Barley’s bedside lamp; a welcome blackness to settling over the room. 

With this, he turned himself back over; snuggling up to his elder and allowing himself to sink further into the musk and disjointed chaos of the comforters beneath them . . . 

To be continued.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for commenting! We hope you enjoy this new chapter!

The next morning, Barley was roused by something warm and soft in his arms. He rocked against it, grinding his hips and sighing contentedly. Breathing in, he smelled Ian’s shampoo and remembered that his brother had slept over. He kissed Ian’s spade ear, and smiled when he heard a sleepy chuckle. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Barley murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.

A loud knocking at the door had both boys jumping out of their skin, followed by Laurel’s voice on the other side of the door. “Good morning, sleepyhead!” she called out. 

Barley shoved Ian away, and Ian threw himself over the edge of the bed, slipping underneath. A second later the door opened and Laurel walked in. She was fully dressed, with her purse over her shoulder. 

“Oof, cover yourself,” she said, glancing away.

Barley yelped and pulled the blanket up. “Mom! Can you please knock?”

Laurel turned back to him and knocked on the doorframe. “Alright, I knocked. Time to get up! It’s chore day!” Barley flopped back down on the bed, huffing. Laurel continued, “I’m going grocery shopping. Do you need anything?”

“Cheese puffs, please. And don’t forget-”

“The Gorgon Zola’s brand, I know, I know,” Laurel said, jotting it down on her shopping list. 

“And get Ian the Frosted Crystal Crisps, please.”

“Can do,” she said, adding it to the list and tucking it in her purse. “Speaking of your brother, have you seen him? He’s not in his room.”

Barley’s gaze was shifty. “Uhh, no. Maybe he went out for a uh… morning walk?”

Laurel snorted. “Yeah that’ll be the day, Ian taking a leisure walk. Anyway, you need to mow the lawn, and whenever Ian shows up again, tell him to do the dishes and wipe down the kitchen.”

“Sure, I’ll do that,” Barley said. 

“Love you, sweetie,” she said, coming forward and kissing his forehead.

“C’mon Mom,” Barley whined. “Let me get dressed.” 

“Good plan,” she said, heading for the door. “The sooner you mow, the better. It’s only going to get hotter out!” And with that, Laurel was gone.

With the door shut, Barley scrambled back to the bed and peered over, just as Ian crawled out from underneath, dust bunnies clinging to his skin. “Jeez, that was close,” Barley whispered.

Ian’s eyes were heavy with disappointment and fatigue as he emerged from the space beneath his elder’s bed; dust-bunnies, hair (of mixed origins) and snack wrappers clinging to his hoodie. 

He allowed his unenthusiastic gaze to settle on Barley. 

“I-I’m not mad at  _ you _ . . . But I  _ hate _ what just happened,” he admitted, lips pressed into a tight line as he crawled out and observed himself; visibly shivering as he eyed the globs of dust and trash clinging to him.

“Never mind. I  _ hate _ you right now,” he spat, full lips pulled into a grimace. “I-I-I’m just . . . Gonna go  _ change _ ,” he sighed defeatedly, sliding into his discarded shorts before turning to exit the room and scurry upstairs (hopefully unnoticed).

But when he reached his room, he’d come to regret not offering his brother at  _ least _ a single parting kiss.

The hours that followed were predictable enough: Barley had set about doing his lawn work, Colt was attempting to handle the laundry, while Iandore stood at the sink in a similar, dust-free variant of his former loungewear.

Despite spending the first few moments of his morning in a rush of adrenaline and covered in debris; the pastel mage was in a merry mood. The sun was shining, he’d spent the previous night thoroughly sexed, fully adored, and in the capable arms of the very man he’d spent his entire life loving.

And right at this moment, he was able to peer out into the front yard, observing the brawny Quest Master as golden aether poured onto him; illuminating the sweat-kissed sheen of his skin, and the fragmented tousle of his hair.

Barley Lightfoot: Hard at work beneath the springtime sun, laser-focused on his tasks.

The wizard smiled to himself, shaking his head as he set aside the last of the pots to drain; moving on to clearing the clutter from the countertops and wiping things down.

Humming to himself as he went, Ian paid little attention to the disjointed clunk of hooves behind him in the kitchen, or Officer Bronco’s lingering umber stare upon his willowy form—

“Nice day, isn’t it?” Colt said, setting his basket of laundry on the counter. Eyes breaking away from Barley’s hard-working form outside, Ian turned and looked up at the centaur. Colt was dressed casually, in a well-worn NMPD t-shirt. 

“Y-Yeah,” Ian nearly yelped.

“It’s a shame, really,” Colt mused, “being stuck indoors on a day like this. Almost seems too quiet with Barley and your mother out of the house.” Colt’s gaze moved from Ian’s eyes to his neck, and then down to his wrists where he held a dish towel. “Now that I think of it, you and I really don’t get too many opportunities to talk. One-on-one, I mean.” 

Ian’s brows furrowed, valentine-eyes catching the officer’s warm umber leer zeroing in on his exposed skin.

“ _ Right _ . . . We don’t,” he admitted, voice thick with honey as his nerves flared. 

He knew if he reached to further conceal his bruises, it would only serve alert the older man to their whereabouts . . . But  _ perhaps _ , it wasn’t the  _ bruises _ he was taking in—

“A-And it  _ is _ pretty quiet,” he continued; eyes round and soft, full lips wearing an agreeable smile. 

But inside, he was uncertain. What could this have been about?

“Did . . . D-Did you wanna  _ talk _ ? To  _ me _ ?”

Colt’s hooves clopped as he crossed the kitchen, and leaned sideways against the counter. His elbow rested on the shelf near the sink. He turned to look outside, eyes narrowing as he sighed. “Yeah, I think I do. See, there’s been a lot of strange things goin’ on around here, Ian. Things that don’t add up. Or if they do, the sum just isn’t something you’d believe so easily. You, for one thing, walkin’ around with more marks on you than a battered housewife. And Barley, with his sudden, crazy mood swings. One minute he can’t aim his fork into his own mouth because he’s too busy staring at you, and the next minute he’s punching a hole in the van.” 

Colt’s gaze slid back to the small elf, watching him for a reaction. “Strange, isn’t it?”   
  
Dread pooling in Ian’s belly as he allowed himself to hold his step-father’s gaze; his smile faded just a bit as he paused to swallow before delivering a lie doused in artificial sweetener.

“D-Doesn’t seem  _ that _ strange. I’m  _ clumsy _ , and Barley broke up with his  _ girlfriend _ a few weeks ago—”

But the quirk of Colt’s dense brow, and the tilting of his head, stopped the brittle teen in his tracks.

There was a knowingness there that Ian had seen a time or two before, but he wasn’t sure how to place it. And so he cleared his throat, chocolate eyes falling from the man’s steadied gaze to his trademark mustache; finding his lips pressed in disappointment.

Straightening up, Colt clopped back over to the basket of laundry and began sorting through it, pulling out kitchen rags and dish towels, folding them in two piles on the counter. As he worked, he spoke casually. “For as long as I’ve known you, Iandore, you’ve been pretty darn good at dodging the truth. Laurel doesn’t see it, Barley doesn’t see it, and I don’t blame them. They don’t go to work every day and interrogate suspects. And they love you, so they would give you the benefit of the doubt even if things aren’t adding up. Any thoughts on that?”

Colt paused his folding to glance at Ian, who was standing with his back pressed to the edge of the counter. His hands were fisted around a dish cloth, holding onto it like a lifeline. 

“I guess not,” Colt said casually. “How about this? I’ll go ahead and share some theories, and you just cut in if I’m getting colder.” Colt set down the dish towels he was folding and met Ian’s eye. “I’ve got a theory that you’ve been wanting something for a long time now. I never knew what it was, or what you were up to all those times that you told your mom you were going to tutor your classmates. But yeah, it comes down to that thing that you’ve been wishing that you had. And my theory is that you’ve gotten it.”

Ian’s muscles were tense, his shoulders rigid and his face frozen in a practiced, unreadable expression. The expression, however, was failing. Colt was seeing through him like glass.

“Hey,” Colt said gently, causing Ian to look up and meet his eye. The centaur’s expression had softened. “You know I’d never try to replace… anyone. But I hope you know that I care about you two boys like you were my own. I just don’t want to worry, is all. I want to make sure that you’re thinking about what the future holds, what all of the possible outcomes are. For your own sake, as well as Barley’s.”

Still, Ian didn’t utter a word. Colt didn’t seem to expect it. He took the laundry basket and carried it out, hooves clunking along as he made his way down the hall and up the stairs.

For a few moments, the svelte wizard wondered if he might never have the courage to move a muscle again, so long as he lived. His heart had slowed to a near stop, soft fists clammy as he felt a familiar lump form in his bruised throat.

For all of Colt’s sweetness, Ian felt so very  _ exposed _ .

His disguise had  _ failed _ him, his tongue had  _ betrayed _ him, and his secret had  _ escaped _ him.

How long, he wondered, had Colt been  _ onto _ him? The parties, the boys, the bruises . . . How much was truly  _ known _ ? Why hadn’t the jolly centaur ever bothered to inform him, that he was so  _ transparent _ ?

And now  _ this _ ? His romance with Barley? Were they so very  _ obvious _ ?

Ian swallowed another lump, his body loosening up slowly as he shuffled in his place; holding onto the counter as he peered outside at his brother, still hard at work.

_ ‘I want to make sure that you’re thinking about what the future holds, what all of the possible outcomes are. For your own sake, as well as Barley’s,’  _ Colt had said.

Full brows furrowed in thought as Ian wondered, lower lip pulled between pronounced front teeth. 

Had he ever considered their  _ future _ ?

_ Barley _ certainly had. 

Last night, he’d poured his heart out about the possibility of a future in which he was making a phonecall to the man Ian could very-well end up with.

His heart had been broken.

The concept of losing Ian? Was visibly  _ unbearable _ to him.

But had the younger Lightfoot considered the possibility of a future in which they would eventually  _ part _ ? Had Ian ever considered the possibility of  _ him _ not being a proper fit for his  _ brother _ ?

Horrifyingly, he found the answer to be a resounding ‘ _ no’ _ .

What did he have in  _ common _ with Barley? A mother and a father? And  _ what else _ ?

Outside of magic, what  _ passions _ did they share? What  _ hobbies _ had they taken a mutual interest in?

Had Iandore proposed to build this relationship on a foundation of lust and passion? Was that all Barley was worth to him, in the end?

**No** —he tightened his lips at the thought.

Barley was his  _ brother _ . His  _ friend _ . His  _ guiding light _ . His  _ protector _ . His  _ hero _ . . . But what did those things mean, really?

All mere titles; taken for granted, in the grand scheme of things. But the willowy youth decided in that moment, there would have to be a  _ change _ . For their budding romance to fully bloom; he would have to make an  _ effort _ . Their love was worth it to him, and he was determined to prove its worth to Barley.

In simpler times, he’d placed a scarlet checkmark within a box next to a handwritten promise: ‘Share My Life With Him’.

Now was his time to earn that mark of completion.

~*~

The day went by productively. Laurel returned from grocery shopping before noon, made sandwiches for everyone, and gave the boys new tasks. Barley climbed a ladder to the roof to sweep the mushroom cap while Ian gave Blazey a bath in the backyard. By the end of it, Barley was soaked in sweat and Ian was soaked in soapy water and dragon scales. Before dinner everyone had showered and changed, and the boys were allowed to rest while Colt and Laurel cooked together. 

“I am  _ starving _ ,” Barley announced as he filled his plate with large helpings of chicken, corn, and mashed red potatoes. He waived off the green beans when his mother sent the serving bowl his way. With a mouthful of potatoes, Barley glanced around at the others. Laurel and Colt were contentedly starting their meal, and Ian was taking dainty little bites as he usually did. He looked a little haggard, and Barley figured he was tired from the long day’s work. He smiled to himself as a plan formed in his mind, one which included a soothing massage for his weary brother’s aching back and feet. 

“So Ian,” Laurel said, “are you gonna tell us who the special girl is? Or the guy?”

A fork clattered onto Ian’s plate, and Barley coughed on his food and hastily reached for his drink. 

“W-What?” Ian asked, wide-eyed. 

Laurel just smiled. “The necklace! I wouldn’t peg you for a necklace-wearer on your own. Somebody must have given that to you.” 

Barley stared at his plate, pushing food around and then stuffing his mouth with chicken before anyone had a chance to ask him something incriminating. 

Ian quickly reached for the crudely constructed heart; dropping it into the neckline of his oversized sweater before offering his mother a rounded baby-doll stare. 

“O-Oh,  _ c’mon _ , mom . . . I-It’s a  _ secret _ ,” he smiled, brows furrowing anxiously as twin pairs of confection-hued eyes found each other across the dinner table.

Laurel quirked a brow, a playful smirk on her lips as she opened her mouth to speak, but reconsidered; forking up a neat bite of potatoes.

But curiosity got the best of her in the end. 

“Are they a secret we’re going to  _ meet _ anytime soon? Maybe at  _ graduation _ ?—”

“ **_Mom_ ** ,” Ian whined, eyes narrowed and lips pouting as he leaned back in his chair and wound his wiry arms around himself.

“Oh, Ian,  _ honey _ , I’m  **_sorry_ ** it's just—I’m  _ excited _ for you! You’ve never gotten a  _ gift _ like that before!  _ Certainly _ never worn  **jewelry** ! I mean, they must be really  _ special _ —"

Laurel stopped short when Colt gently put his hand on her arm. She looked at him with surprise, and he said, “C’Mon, Honey. Every young man deserves a little privacy. Give the guy a break, won’t you?”

Laurel’s brows had risen as she looked at her husband, and then at the boys. Ian was still defensively holding himself, and Barley was shoveling food down like he was preparing for winter. “Well,” she said, “I suppose you’re right. But I’m not happy about it.” 

Colt kissed her cheek and she went back to eating, and began to ask Barley questions about whether or not he’d found her spare keys outside while mowing. Colt and Ian glanced across the table at one another before they both looked away again.

~*~

That night, after clear signs that Colt would be watching TV late, the boys were forced to sleep apart once more. Barley lied awake, thinking over the evening before he texted Ian.

_ Barley: ‘Sorry I didnt tell Mom to leave u alone about the necklace. U kno if it were from anyone else I woulda been on her side, pestering U. Didnt want her to think i was being weird. _ ’

Ears perking as a chime alerted Ian to an incoming text message, weary doe-eyes lit with adoration—followed by uncertainty—as Barley’s name surfaced upon his cellphone screen. Reading over the message with a little sigh, the sun-flecked spellcaster tapped out his response:

_ ‘Ian: It’s fine. Surprised you’re not asleep. Feeling okay?’ _

He grimaced at his own dryness, but decided it may be for the best until he’d had a bit more time to think. He watched his phone, knowing very well by this point that he’d receive a reply within the next thirty seconds or so. 

‘Barley: Oh yeah im good. good and tired. guess colt is gonna be up awhile so ill see u tomorrow after school. <3 u iandore XOXO’

A little smile graced the mage’s lips as he exhaled a wry chuckle, replying with a simple heart emoji before setting his phone aside and continuing to watch his  _ own _ ceiling.

He’d spent the majority of the afternoon and evening sorting through his thoughts surrounding Colt’s knowledge of the nature of his relationship with his older brother, and how it could affect them in the immediate future.

In truth, he was uncertain of how to proceed.

Where did they go from here, now that Laurel was the only remaining member of their household to be left in the dark? How long would these moments of blissful ignorance last for her? What were the consequences of Colt’s enlightenment? What would it mean for he and Barley’s level of intimacy?

What would it mean for he and Barley  _ in-general _ ?

Eventually, Iandore found himself succumbing to the inky embrace of sleep; bed emptier than he would have liked, and mind filled with unanswered inquiries . . .

~*~

Monday was a normal day for Barley, classes, independent school work, and picking up Ian. He was disappointed to hear that Ian had a large amount of work to do, and would not be able to hang out much. Of course he took it in stride, because he wanted Ian to be free of stress, with ample time to complete his work. 

Tuesday, however, was the same. Barley was met by an onslaught of apologies from his little brother on the ride home. Ian felt guilty for the workload and Barley assured him it was fine. On top of that, Colt’s late night naps in front of the TV were making Ian skittish, and too afraid to come down and stay with Barley.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Barley was feeling mediocre. He could never blame Ian for his workload or for it being impossible to spend time together. Maybe he had been spoiled a bit by their good fortune, newly found love and time spent together, warm embraces overnight and the occasional tryst. 

After picking Ian up from school, Barley pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the road, Ian belted into the seat beside him. 

The little mage zeroed-in on the road before them, not bothering to look Barley’s way for some time. Not a glance and not a word, until a sigh was offered as a break in his silence.

Fawn-like eyes braved a peek at his elder as he drove—the sight of him bringing a little skip to the junior Lightfoot’s heart—two nights without him weighing heavily on his body.

“ _ Hey _ . . . Do . . . Do you remember that park where I asked you to pull over?” Ian asked, swallowing densely as the mention of it caused his sibling to return his gaze.

And gods, Barley’s eyes were beautiful in the afternoon sun—

“I-I think we need to _talk_ . . . Uhm . . . A-And I mean, I might also need to _kiss_ _you_? But, I really need to _talk_ to you.”

The larger elf’s heart jumped into his throat. Okay, kissing was reassuring, so maybe Ian wasn’t ready to do something drastic, like ending things for good. Or was it a goodbye kiss? Oh God, he was panicking. No, no, he told himself that Ian wouldn’t spring something like that on him without warning. He had to use his head, and looking back, things had been going well.

Or had they?! Ian had been busy for days. What if he hadn’t really been busy? What if he’d just needed space? 

“Sure,” Barley said, trying to sound like he wasn’t having a heart attack. He was driving with white knuckles by the time he turned off onto the rest stop and nearby park. He pulled off and parked underneath the shade of a nearby tree. 

Iandore studied his brother’s temperament, quirking a full brow as he registered something akin to tension; but swiftly realized that he, himself, probably read the same way. 

He’s likely been reading this way for  _ days _ , in fact. 

Every moment spent with Barley—be it at the dinner table, or on the way home from school—was a temptation the ribbon-maned enchanter had tried so very hard to resist. 

Just until he could get a grasp on the situation between them.

But, he’d had so much to consider.

Blameless eyes honed-in on pools of anxious amber, and Ian offered a nervous smile. 

“So . . . A-About that  _ kiss _ ,” he offered, unfastening his seatbelt and ducking out of his seat to close the space between himself and his brother.

The endearment they shared was  _ timid _ at first—the angle he’d initially tried had Ian feeling as though his profound nose were in the way of his work—but as Barley kissed back; they fit together perfectly.

Barley had a funny way of making oversized things  _ fit _ , Ian thought, smiling into the kiss.

When at last they parted, he simply studied his sibling’s face for a bit; admiring the stray hairs between his brows, and the way his eyes seemed to glaze-over at such a chaste action . . .

“Feel like  _ talking _ , now?”

Barley went from dazed to wary again, brows drawing together. "I guess. You've got me a little nervous if I'm being honest. But yeah. I'm all ears." 

Ian’s eyes softened at his elder’s concern; a shy smile gracing his lips as he slipped back into his seat, still facing Barley.

“ _ Well _ . . . I-I guess,  _ I’ve _ been a little nervous to bring it up,  _ too _ ,” he began with a swallow, confection-hued eyes studying the coiled ink of his brother’s tattoo. “So . . .  _ S-Sunday _ —While Mom was shopping . . . A-And you were outside mowing? Colt . . .  _ Colt  _ talked to me,” Ian informed, tone a bit grim as he went.

“A-And he said he had some . . . Some theories—A-About what was going on,” he paused for a sigh, finally meeting his sibling’s gaze, “between  _ us _ .”

Ian watched Barley’s lips part, a stunned expression overtaking the gamer before Ian held up a hand to halt him. 

“He—He’s not  _ mad _ ,” he tossed, swallowing anxiously, mouth drier than he’d anticipated. “But he . . . He wants me to think . . . a-about our future—About  **your** future. About . . . What’ll  _ happen _ if this doesn’t,” he paused, dusky gaze slipping to the apex of his own bony knees.

“What could happen if this doesn’t  _ work out _ .”

Entirely stunned, Barley didn't answer for a while. He turned to face the steering wheel. "Just to confirm," he said slowly, "this is not you calling it quits with us? This isn't the lead up to you telling me it's over?”

Ian balked, then scoffed under his breath; smile softening into a flatline as his gaze reached for the quester’s. . .

“This is me telling you, I  _ listened _ to Colt, a-and I took the time I needed to think things over,” he stated flatly; a tinge of caution in his youthful voice. “L- _ Look _ at me,” he instructed, brows pinched in sympathy as he waited for Barley to obey.

“It . . . This  _ can’t _ be all about  _ me _ , Barley. We have to think about this  _ together _ . A-And I’ve seen how hard  _ you’ve _ been thinking about this. You—You’ve been  _ killing _ yourself, trying to work through this.  _ Desperate _ to make this work. And  _ Colt _ ? He sees it, too,” he paused.

“And he’s  _ worried _ about you . . . He’s worried about  _ us _ . And if  _ he’s  _ worried about us? How long is it gonna take for  **Mom** to start picking up on all this, too?”

“Not long,” Barley said flatly. 

With a little sigh, Ian pressed on: 

“We can’t . . . We can’t keep  _ doing _ this, the way we’ve been doing it. We have to be  _ smarter _ about this. N-None of this is  _ your _ fault . . . I . . . I-I should have  _ known _ better. We’ve been  _ sloppy _ . A-A-And I’ve been  _ encouraging _ you, to be sloppy . . .”

“Hm,” Barley murmured. “Well I don’t know if I feel the same about who’s to blame, but yeah, I can see that we’ve been a little… cavalier about all of this.”

Offering a nervous chuckle in response to his elder’s admittance, Ian hummed his agreement; the empty space between them suddenly a point of interest as his mind sifted through his chaotic thoughts. 

“I-I think it was . . . the  _ shower _ , that tipped him off. A-And  _ neither _ of us have been waiting until he’s in bed to hang out,” he sighed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. “And  _ then _ —he figured out the  _ van _ situation on his own. A-And he noticed the  _ bruises _ . . .”

Dread weighed heavily in the pit of Barley’s stomach. He already felt a little guilt over the marks he’d left on Ian’s body, despite his brother’s insistence that it was bound to happen with his delicate skin. And to think that Colt knew he’d done it. 

“Oh God, oh God…” Barley groaned. “This is so fucked up. Ugh.” He rubbed his face and then blew an exasperated breath from between his lips. “So he didn’t say anything about there being consequences? About telling Mom? Or about the clock ticking until we have to tell her ourselves?”

Brows furrowing sympathetically at the bigger man’s frustration, Ian shook his head softly; gnawing his lip in a show of raw nerve as he reached for an answer. 

“ _ No _ . . . No, he didn’t  _ threaten _ me. And he never mentioned  _ Mom _ . . . He just . . . wanted me to know he  _ knew _ . A-And that he was  _ concerned _ for us,” he offered a meek shrug. “I-I kinda . . . clammed up on him, honestly. I didn’t ask questions. I was . . . I was  _ scared _ ,” he spat, chocolate eyes hardening under his own self-loathing. “All he asked me to think about was . . . our  _ future _ . And I mean,  **_really_ ** think about it.”

A shred of warmth made it past Barley’s hurricane of stress, and his eyes softened. He reached for Ian, closing his large hand over Ian’s and holding it. “And?”

“ _ And _ . . . the truth is, Barley,” pausing for a moment, the sunkissed mage allowed the warmth of his elder’s palm to quell the soft trembling of his own; dusk and sunset interwoven with a single glance. “I can’t  _ imagine _ a future without  _ you _ in it. I-I don’t  _ wanna _ imagine it. A-And I  _ don’t care  _ if this isn’t forever . . . But I can  _ promise _ you that, I’m gonna start doing everything I can, to try and  _ make it _ a forever.”

Barley blinked back the glassiness in his eyes and reached for Ian, his voice rough. “C’mere. I need you.” Taking Ian’s hand, he pulled the little mage into his lap, taking Ian’s face in his hands and tenderly kissing his lips. When the kiss finally broke, he moved to kiss Ian’s forehead, gently rubbing his little brother’s ears. 

The conjurer found he always felt so much safer beneath his brother’s lips; lashes fluttering to a close for a moment as his spaded ears were massaged.

“Mmm . . . M-Mom’s gonna . . . Gonna call us soon,” he reminded, smiling into the gamer’s calloused touch. “A-And you’re gonna—You’re kinda getting me going,” he pouted, brows furrowing as he felt his loins begin to stir.

Reluctantly, Barley released Ian’s ears, and gave him a chaste peck on his long nose. “Well that makes one of us. I’ll need therapy to ever get hard again, what with _Colt_ _knowing_.” He released Ian, a torn smile on his face. “Homeward, then?”

Ian bit back a little chuckle, shaking his head as he smacked his brother’s chest playfully. 

“They sell  _ pills _ for that, you know,” he offered a sly little wink; tongue pinched between the step in his teeth as he slid from his sibling’s lap and back into his seat. “ _ Arthur _ probably sells them.” 

“Arthur only sells  _ illegal _ drugs,” Barley said defensively, before shifting the car into gear. From there, they headed home.

~*~

The remainder of the drive home was spent adorned in playful banter. Sure, Barley was going to be put-off for a while, but Ian certainly hoped that it wouldn’t be from  _ him _ .

Dinner, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast. Laurel seemed blissfully unaware of the simmering tension between the three men in her life; and while Iandore was thankful—for her sake—he felt  _ sympathy _ for Barley.

His elder’s appetite hadn’t decreased, but the junior Lightfoot could tell that his spirits were dampened by the situation at hand. Barley’s trademark gaze of liquid gold tried  _ desperately _ to remain laser-focused on the plate before him.

_ Anywhere _ but on Colt, and gods  _ forbid _ Ian.

After tossing a few cursory inquiries at her sons (which were answered as casually as possible), Laurel seemed to be enthralled in a conversation with Colt about his day; the centaur casting a few (steady, warm) glances at Iandore as he shared a chuckle with his wife here and there.

And  _ within _ those glances, the sun-speckled mage was certain that what he was reading was . . . reassurance?

It wasn’t the proper time for them to speak.  _ That _ would have to wait until the following night, perhaps. But Ian knew he had to have a conversation with his step-father over the events that transpired on Sunday afternoon. He had questions, and felt he owed the man at  _ least _ a thank-you for handling things so calmly.

Even if perhaps, that calm was not to be an  _ enduring _ one.

After dinner, the family separated; Colt and Laurel volunteering to handle the dishes themselves while the Lightfoot brothers tackled their scholastic endeavors.

And so, hours into the night; the slightest of them sat at his desk, bouncing his leg as he forced his weary eyes to focus upon his homework.

But his thoughts wandered to his elder brother. The penumbral glow of his flaxen gaze, the slowly thickening bristle of his jaw, the flex of solid muscle just beneath the slight give of bulk.

Before he could help himself, lithe fingers were reaching for his phone and thumbing across a digital keyboard.

_ ‘Ian: I feel like an idiot for giving you the cold shoulder. I’m really sorry. I should have told you.’ _

Pressing send, he studied the delivery status for a moment; a second thought entering his mind concerning his level honesty, encouraging him to send another.

_ ‘Ian: Also, I’ve been thinking about being inside of you all day… Is that okay? I’m excited. <3’ _

Meanwhile, Barley had been keeping himself busy, most importantly, to keep his mind busy. He got ahead on an essay, spent some time working on campaigns, and was busy reorganizing his miniature paints when he received a text ping. He stared across the room at his phone, which was plugged in to the charger on his night stand. He bit his lip and stood, crossing the room and collapsing onto his bed, popping the phone off the charger as he went. Barley was a little nervous with the possibility of receiving more bad news about something, and at the same time he was happy to hear from Ian in general.

He read the first message about Ian’s cold shoulder and began to respond about how it wasn’t a big deal, but paused when Ian’s second message came in. Barley swallowed, feeling an uprising of butterflies inside of him. Face flushed, he smiled and typed out a response.

_ ‘Barley: Im excited too. <3 also a little nervous, maybe. I really want it to be good for u. Wanna see u lose ur cool ;) _ ’

A sly smirk melded into the newly formed flush upon Ian’s face as he read-over his sibling’s text, soft fingers tapping along the screen as a familiar hunger built within him.

_ ‘Ian: You always make me lose my cool… I like it when you lose yours too. <3 Do you miss my mouth? I could go for a snack.” _

The grin tugging at his lips was kissed by a hushed giggle; part of him unable to believe he sent what he’d typed.

“Oh my God,” Barley said aloud, upon reading Ian’s message. His skin was on fire and he put the phone down, running his fingers through his hair. He tugged, making sure this wasn’t a midnight dream. Lifting the phone again, he typed out a reply.

‘ _ Barley: i cant believe u said that. :0 ur so fuckin hot iandore. The living room is empty. Please come down asap <3 <3 _ ’

A humored sound escaped Ian at his elder’s reply . . . And then he gnawed his lower lip, a tinge of worry lapping at the edge of his mind as he considered Barley’s offer. The living area may have been  _ empty _ , sure, but Colt and Laurel were still in the house.

What if one of them—particularly the more observant of the two—were to awaken in the night? Would they check Ian’s room to find him missing? Would they overhear the two of them in Barley’s room? Were they being  _ observed _ ? Being  _ cased _ ?

Were these thoughts even justified? Or was this paranoia?

Without first speaking to Colt, there would be no way to know.

_ ‘Ian: I want you so much, but I’m a little nervous about being caught.’ _

He sighed, brows pinched into a peak as disappointment and hunger surged through him.

_ ‘Ian: Maybe we should wait until tomorrow? After school?’ _

And with a final thought, another admittance:

_ ‘Ian: But I want to swallow you so bad. I miss having your loads inside me.’ _

Groaning, Barley felt himself stir beneath his shorts. He texted back.

‘ _ Barley: R u trying to murder me?? Bc im dying down here. Send me a pic? Wanna see ur pretty lips. plz? <3’ _ ’

Valentine-eyes studied Barley’s request for a moment, full lips pulled into a shy smile as the little spellcaster weighed his options.

_ ‘Ian: I can try, _ ’ he offered, taking a moment to clean off his front-facing camera with his oversized shirt.

He studied his reflection in the screen; the lighting wasn’t doing much for him, but with a few careful adjustments, he managed to snap several decent selfies.

He knew the formula. 

He’d practiced it to perfection. 

_ Eyes soft, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted. _

And a bonus photo of him offering the camera a cheeky little wink: Tongue hanging out in what could have been confused for an expression of  _ playfulness _ , had the angle (and his mood) not been so risqué.

And so he sent them off—one by one, so as to ensure they arrived in due order—finishing with a text.

_ ‘Ian: Now you can pretend you’re busting on my tongue, if you want. <3’ _

_ ‘Ian: Don’t forget to send one back.’ _

“Holy crow,” Barley choked, sitting up a little. Ian’s text had his mouth watering, and he found himself palming the bulge in his shorts to ease the ache. But he couldn’t get over the photos. Reaching back with two hands, he typed back.

‘ _ Barley: god ur beautiful, ian. You’d make me finish so fast. _ ’ 

Once he sent the text, Barley scrolled up to look at Ian again. It made him desperately want to kiss him, and to feel Ian’s hot mouth around him again. Ian was  _ so _ good at it. Barley unconsciously chewed his lower lip. He glanced sideways at the night stand and opened the drawer, taking out the lube. A minute later he’d shoved off his pants and underwear. Feeling inexplicably guilty, he sent another text. 

‘ _ Barley: touching myself, ngl. and… trying something new.. _ ”

Barley set the phone down on the bed beside him, and poured lube onto his fingers. Hesitantly he reached down between his legs, and slicked his own entrance. He’d never done even this much outside of making himself clean in the shower, and felt a wave of uneasiness. If Ian was able to do it so gracefully, he should be able to at least do it at all. His chest rose and fell as he pushed a finger inside of himself. He gritted his teeth, holding it there and trying to relax. Barley’s head fell back against the headboard as he steadied his breathing.

Quirking a brow in curiosity, the petite teen’s digits danced across his display, tapping out an inquiry:

‘ _ Ian: Something new? Tell me about it?’ _

He felt as though he understood the man’s hint, but desired an opinion. The image of his brother’s calloused fingers clumsily pressing into his own untouched entrance was . . . delectable.

_ ‘Ian: Are you enjoying it so far? Is it too much?’ _

The first few times could be  _ trying _ , to say the least. If anyone understood that, it was Ian.

Hearing the ping, Barley wiped off his free hand on the sheet and lifted his phone, reading the text. One-handed, he typed an admittance.

‘ _ Barley: It’s a lot _ ..’ 

Barley pushed deeper, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he strained them. He tried pushing in a second finger, grimaced and removed it. He chuckled flatly and sent a second text.

‘ _ Barley: i cant believe u could ever get used to this. Ur so brave lol… _ ’

Ian let out a chuckle-laced breath, brows furrowing as he sympathized with what his sibling must be facing. He considered his reply—feeling as though he knew just what to say—but struggling to put it all into words.

_ ‘Ian: It can be hard at first… You may not be pushing deep enough? But don’t overdo it. <3’ _

Pressing send and awaiting a reply, the words Ian searched for finally came to him. What Barley was preparing himself for wasn’t  _ all _ about sensation. For him to find comfort in it, there had to be more.

_ ‘Ian: But when it's you and I? I’m going to make it good for you. I promise… When it's someone you really want to be with who’s inside you? That’s when it feels best.’ _

_ ‘Ian: The best it's ever felt has been when I’m with you. So I think as long as you want me, it’ll be good for you too.’ _

At first, Barley tried to decipher the text as instruction. How could ‘not pushing deeply enough’ be a problem? He really had a lot to figure out. And then the next two messages filtered in, and almost right away, Barley relaxed a bit. 

Carefully he removed his finger and plucked a few tissues from the drawer to clean up. Shifting down and pulling the blanket over himself, Barley texted Ian.

‘ _ Barley: think im gonna quit for now. dont know what im doing. i think ill let u take care of it _ .  _ <3’ _

A smirk crossing the wizards’ lips at Barley’s admittance, he gestured a sleepy teeter of his cerulean head, tapping out his reply:

_ ‘Ian: Don’t sweat it, Daddy. I’ll take good care of you when we’re both ready. <3’ _

He couldn’t help but giggle at his own audacious claim—knowing full-well he was underqualified for the task at hand—fingers quickly providing a follow-up message:

_ ‘Ian: I’m going to get some sleep. I love you. So much. Sweet dreams.’ _

_ ‘Ian: P.S. When you pick me up tomorrow, show up hungry. ;-P’ _

Another giggle; cheeks reddening at his own uncharacteristic boldness as he closed his screen, gathered up his books, and set about preparing for bed.

Tomorrow would be another day, and Ian’s plans for the following night would either make or break his step-father’s ambivalent cooperation.

~*~

It was a typical Monday for Barley. Class, independent school work, and a peppering of his hobbies here and there. Arthur had invited him to come over and get blazed that evening, but he felt less inclined than usual. Time spent lying on the crooked futon in Arthur’s musty basement-bedroom meant time away from his brother. And getting high didn’t fit the image of a man who deserved Iandore Lightfoot. Not that he would never get high again, but maybe he’d wait until after finals had ended. 

Barley sat in the van, parked out front of the school. He was early, and was consciously avoiding the texts from last night. Every time he’d begun reading them that day, he’d ended up having to hide the tent in his shorts. 

Down the halls, out the doors, and into the blustery embrace of the golden afternoon; Ian moved at an uncharacteristically swift pace. Limber legs carried him with a hopeful little bounce as he descended the steps leading away from New Mushroom High, and toward his elder’s trademark ‘chariot’. He offered the raucous gamer a strange smile as he approached, rounding the vehicle and lifting himself inside as quickly as possible; not waiting until the two were out of the parking lot to close the space between them.

Lips on lips, and a soft tongue briefly coaxing its way into the bigger man’s mouth; pulling away almost as quickly as it was offered.

“ _ Drive _ ,” Ian breathed, lust already heavy on his voice as he dropped his backpack behind him and sank to his knees. “Uhm, can I give you head on the way to the park?” 

“H-Holy uhhhh… fff… l-l-let me get outta the school parking lot,” Barley stammered, not wanting to get labeled as a sex offender. He shifted gears and sped off, glancing occasionally at the sultry smile on Ian’s face. They were coming to the bottleneck of cars trying to get out, and Barley swerved to the side. “Hold on,” he said, before driving onto the grass in order to pass the line. A few cars honked indignantly, but Barley paid them no mind. 

Was road head even safe?! Would he kill them both? Either way, the thought alone had Barley starting to get stiff.

Ian couldn’t help but chuckle at his brother’s fervor—swaying here and there at the swerves and bumps in their departure—but did as he was instructed and waited until they were on the road before pulling his meal from its packaging. There was a bit of maneuvering to consider: He was a bit shorter than he needed to be, and Barley’s arms were partially in the way.

But Ian made it work. And before his elder knew what hit him, the mage’s lips were around his rapidly stiffening cock. Slow, steady bobs of a cherubic head finished stirring the quester to attention, Ian savoring the distinct flavor.

“Fuck, I’ve been craving this all day,” he meant to purr, but in truth it sounded wanton and needy. 

With that, he continued his work; tongue swirling and lips hungrily slurping at the precum already beading at the head of his sibling’s manhood.

“Can’t wait to feel your mouth on me, too.”

“Y-Yeahh,” Barley choked, fists gripping the wheel. It was taking all of his brain power not to crash, as the sensation spread over him like wildfire. “Ah, Ian...” he breathed, one hand dropping to his brother’s silky curls, stroking through them and encouraging the rise and fall. Barley was rolling his hips, only as much as he could manage, risking glances down at his brother when he could.

Barley’s challenge hadn’t lasted long before they’d reached their destination; Iandore pulling off and practically dragging the elder Lightfoot into the bed of his van as soon as he’d put them in park. Guiding them both to their knees, Ian’s fingers reached for the brass of his own fly—pulling himself free of his all constraints before reaching to reel his brother in by the collar for a proper kiss.

Tongues and teeth clashed as he did so, little skill or tact considered on his part as he devoured the soft-drink flavored cavern of Barley’s mouth. He reached between them then, a soft hand wrapping around the greater man’s hardness to offer a few heated strokes. The weight of it felt  _ so right _ in his hands, and he gave it a squeeze for good measure, appreciating the firmness and the girth.

“O-Okay,  _ my turn _ , right?” he inquired; baby-doll eyes agleam with lust as he offered his trademark nervous smile, then laid himself back and into the pile of mismatched comforters behind him. 

He reached for himself, swiping a thumb over the bead of precum on his throbbing need before raising it to his lips for a cursory taste.

“ _ Hurry _ ?”

“ _ At your service, Sir Iandore _ ,” Barely purred as he moved between Ian’s legs, trailing kisses down his thigh before settling. Ian’s cock was standing up straight, perky and inviting, and Barley wasted no more time before closing his hot mouth around it. He sunk down, lips and tongue sliding against velvety soft skin. Ian tasted nice, and felt even better. On his elbows, Barley wrapped his hands around Ian’s thighs, squeezing as he bobbed his head. 

The hands on his thighs kept the freckled mage from plunging into the wet heat wrapped around his length, but they didn’t keep his fingers from lacing into his brother’s hair and greedily urging him deeper and faster. The feeling of wet heat wrapped around him was already sending Ian into a frenzy of mewls and grunts as he dug his blunt nails into Barley’s tender scalp.

“Fuck, Daddy,” he groaned, trying in vain to buck up and into the man’s bristled lips. “You’re g-gonna make me cum fast,” he warned, brows pinched as he felt himself already nearing his orgasm. “I-I don’t wanna cum yet, but—I missed you.”

“Mmh,” Barley groaned upon hearing the name, his dick perking up immediately. He followed Ian’s urges to move faster, and popped off to look at Ian with glazed, hazel eyes. “I missed you too,” he said, voice raspy. Barley licked his fingers, wet and sloppy, and began to rub at Ian’s hole. He knew it didn’t compare to lube, and he didn’t try to penetrate him, but instead massaged the clenching muscles on the surface. Without waiting, he dropped back down, sucking Ian’s dick with renewed fervor. 

Goosebumps raised over every inch of Ian’s silken skin; the fingers massaging his pulsating entrance causing him to try and arch into them.

“I-I think we should—I wanna suck you while you suck me,” Ian whimpered, voice bordering on hysterical as he found himself craving the familiar feeling of being filled. “J-Just lay on your side, and I’ll do you while you do me?”

"Y-Yeah, sure," Barley said at once. He loved hearing Ian's ideas, things he wouldn't have thought of. The two of them shifted onto their sides, creating an imbalanced yin yang. Barley took hold of Ian's hips, eyes closing as he slid him in his mouth once more. Ian tasted  _ so _ good. And Barley gasped around his prick when he felt Ian's mouth on his own.

The return of warm, velvety pleasure lapping at his manhood had Iandore groaning around the massive hardness within his mouth. The sensation of having his throat filled so thoroughly meshed maddeningly with the caress of Barley’s tongue gliding along his hardness.

He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He’d hoped their switch in position would buy him a little more time—possibly help him to calm down a bit. But Barley’s mouth was as sweet as ever, and Ian found himself bucking into it mindlessly as he slurped, sucked and choked on the adventurer’s girth. 

Barley sucked Ian down, moaning around him as he felt Ian doing the same. The fact that the little mage could swallow down so much was wild, and the thought of it had Barley speeding up his movements. His hand moved downward and he squeezed his brother's soft little ass.

A fleeting possibility crossed Ian’s mind through his haze of pleasure; but it was quickly lost to the calloused hand on his rear.

The stimulation was too much, at this point. Barley’s mouth already had him on the edge of his orgasm, but the firm squeeze on his ass had him pulling off of the gamer’s hardness with a soft choke.

“I-I’m gonna  _ cum _ —” he tried to warn, but it had been a bit too late; white heat spilling out of him and into his brother’s hungry mouth as an orgasm wracked his lithe frame. 

At first, all he could do was thrust himself into the velvet warmth around him—lost to the possession of instincts and pleasure. But as he settled into his afterglow, he felt his form go limp; bleary eyes fixed on the pierced, pulsating monster laid out before him.

“S- _ Sorry _ . I warned you too late. Again,” he panted, a soft hand reaching up to give Barley’s manhood a few sheepish strokes of support; glistening strands of precum oozing onto the mage’s hoodie due to their positioning.

“ _ Your _ turn,” he offered, continuing his earlier work with equal fervor.

Swallowing down the warm load and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Barley glanced down at Ian with a pleased smile. 

"Actually," he said, gently taking Ian's hair and easing him off, "I just really want to fuck you." He closed in, kissing Ian's mouth, which was scented with his own musk. "Can I?"

Strong fingers in his cerulean curls that lead to a loving kiss, had Iandore practically nodding into his brother’s mouth before the plea for consent had even left his lips. 

“I-I’m  _ yours _ ,” he affirmed with a soft smile; a bit of fatigue slipping through. “You know you can always have it when you want it,” he continued, planting a kiss into the quester’s jaw. “Have you been . . .  _ thinking _ about it? Being  _ inside _ me?”

“Yes, isn’t it obvious?” Barley was already crawling over him, encouraging Ian to lie on his back. While they’d been half-dressed before, Barley determinately rid Ian of the rest of his clothes. Kisses moved from Ian’s lips to his neck and chest, trailing down his sternum and tummy, and then moving to his thigh. Barley was careful not to overstimulate Ian’s soft prick, which was likely far too sensitive for attention. 

“I know you’re probably tired,” Barley said, “And I’m being a little selfish.” His hazel gaze slid over Ian’s spread legs and up to his face. He flashed Ian a playful, sultry grin. “How about I do all the work, and you just lie back and relax?”

That smile. 

It got Ian every time.

But those  _ eyes  _ . . .

The enchanter once again found himself nodding eagerly, flushing as he spread his legs a touch wider. 

“A- _ Anything _ . I’ve been  _ craving _ it,” he admitted, a bit more heat kissing his shoulders and throat at his own eagerness. “I can’t tell you no . . . N-Not when you look at me like  _ that _ .”

Barley’s expression took on a heated, teasing glow. “Like what?” he asked, feigning innocence. But he didn’t let Ian finish. He swooped up for another kiss, nibbling on Ian’s lower lip. A moment later they had retrieved the lube from Ian’s backpack. Barley had slicked his fingers and begun the leisurely process of easing Ian open. He kissed and sucked on his thigh, leaving hickeys as his fingers pumped into Ian. Barley wanted to remove his fingers and stick his tongue inside, but he knew Ian would be squeamish about not being freshly showered. Luckily, they would have plenty more occasions for Barley to eat him. 

Groaning, Barley massaged himself and asked, “Think you’re ready?” 

Ian was on cloud nine—every inch of his pastel skin humming with need. Every touch felt electric; and for every kiss, a solar flare. He nodded dumbly, body feeling overheated as he ground his hips into his brother’s invading fingers. 

Barley’s amber eyes studying his svelte, perspiration-kissed frame had sent him far beyond a simple flush. He imagined every inch of him must be rouge and lilac at this point.

“I-I don’t really  _ care _ ,” he tossed, more in a breath than anything. “Just need you  _ inside _ me.” 

"I need you too", Barley said huskily. "Feels like it's been forever." He shifted his weight on his elbows, although his curved belly still pressed a bit against the smaller elf. He reached between them, lining himself up before the thick head of his cock pushed it into his brother's lithe body.

Barley exhaled a hot breath against Ian's ear, bristles brushing against the delicate shell. "Ian… my God… you're so good. So warm and tight." 

Suddenly Barley was shifting upward, careful not to slide out. He knelt there and took hold of Ian's hips, pulling Ian up as he impaled him deeper.

The sensation of being stretched anew after so much time without his elder inside him, had Ian drawing panicked, needy breaths. It was painful to be sure; but it didn’t measure up to his primal desire to be filled and claimed. And as his brother adjusted their position—setting himself upright and forcing himself deeper—Ian found his nails digging at Guinevere’s dirty floor. 

The intention was to relieve the pressure building inside of him the only way he knew how in his moment of need; an exercise of passion through force.

“F- _ Fuck _ that’s big,” he panted, gritting his teeth as his eyes welled. 

The invasion was overwhelming, but he only wanted more. Anything he could take, and maybe a little of what he couldn’t.

“ _ Deeper _ ,” he bossed, chocolate meeting caramel as their eyes locked. “Fill me full, don’t be scared.” 

By now, Barley’s eyes had fallen shut. His face, which was tense with concentration, shifted into a snarky smile. “I’m not scared,” he said. “You’re all mine, and you know it.” With that he gave Ian a more forceful thrust, bottoming out and continuing to thrust hard. His eyes glinted when he opened them. 

It was all in the words.

Iandore knew all-too-well, that his brother was right.

He was all  _ Barley’s _ , and he  _ knew _ it.

Doe-eyes—heavy with lust and hunger—darkened in an instant; dilation conquering his focus as he felt himself filled beyond his limit. 

But it felt like  _ love _ .

“How d-do you get s-so  _ deep _ ?” he stammered in between Barley’s slams, feeling his cock re-stiffen against his belly, drooling precum into his shallow navel. “F-Faster, Daddy. Beat it up.”

Barley felt a wonderful chill run down him, ears perking up at the name. His fingers tightened on Ian’s hips as he pulled them up against his own, moving Ian with each stroke instead of himself. “Look at you,” he teased, “begging for more when I already made you cum just minutes ago.”

The flush running along the little mage’s body deepened somehow; something in the elder Lightfoot’s tone registering to him as mildly antagonistic.

Ian tried to frown.  _ Truly _ . A scowl, a leer, even a  _ pout _ would have done. But as his hazy mind begged for focus, his brother’s cock slammed it away from him; dense fingers laboring for fresh bruises upon the delicate skin of his narrow hips.

Let alone the fullness, and let alone that look in the fabler’s eyes that left him scorched by primal hunger, begging to be filled.

“Sh- _ Shut up _ ,” he managed in between lifted and used, “D-Don’t  _ tease _ .”

“Shut up?” Barley repeated. He released Ian’s hip with one hand, and reached for his face. He took the gentle slope of Ian’s jaw in his broad hand, holding it firmly to make sure Ian couldn’t look away. He looked so damn pretty down there, eyes wide as they looked up at him. “Now now…” he said, voice gruff. “Is that any way to talk to your Daddy?”

The question had been his undoing. Physically and mentally, Ian found himself unable to resist the urge to wrap his willowy legs around the adventurer’s dense middle; forcing his brother to sheath himself fully into him.

But the hand on his jaw had been the icing on his cake.

Stars danced before his pleasure-darkened gaze; blameless eyes wide as his mind and body urged the quester to conquer and claim him. For every thrust, his back endeavored to arch and greet it.

“N-No, Sir,” he replied, voice thick with desire as the hardness hammering away at him pounded against his prostate. “I-I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he tried, eyes rolling back at a particularly forceful thrust. “Please cum i-inside me?”

The sight had Barley closer than ever. Ian looked so pleasured, so dizzy with lust and eagerness. And the way that he spoke? It had Barley going crazy. It was then that he remembered something that Ian had said that he liked. He’d mentioned it once, but for sure, he had said it. Barley hesitated a moment, thrusts slowing before his hand slid downward. It moved from Ian’s jaw to his neck, and squeezed just a little. Just enough to assert himself. 

“Who do you belong to?”

Snapping wide at the hand upon his throat, Ian’s fawn-like gaze studied his hero’s.

“Y- _ Y _ —“ he tried, but his words dissolved into a pleasured mewl. “ _ You _ , Daddy,” he tried again, feeling himself on the very edge of losing control.

“I-I’m all  _ yours _ —”

And with another slam, it was all over.

Full lips parted to usher forth a pleasured cry, rounded eyes rolled back, and fingers flew to dig into the forearm holding him steady. Ian’s entire body tensed, a second orgasm wracking him with an intensity that stole his breath.

Everything about what was happening to him was a trigger for his own guilty pleasures. The oversized hardness pummeling his undersized body, the calloused fingers digging into his hips; the vice grip of his brother’s hand—that had only ever offered him protection—now clinging to his throat . . .

He knew he was screaming. He knew it must be loud. But the dull roar of white noise in his empty head washed away everything but the vision of liquid fire in his sibling’s eyes. 

The hand around Ian’s throat trembled as Barley felt the intense clench of his brother’s orgasm. It was finally too much to bear, and with two more rough thrusts, he was done. He stopped short, his cock pulsating as he pumped Ian full of a heavy load. He slipped forward a little, releasing Ian’s throat as he braced himself on the floor of the van. 

The two of them stayed there a moment, panting and sweating, before Barley carefully relieved Ian of himself. When he pulled out, he caught sight of Ian’s gaping entrance, creamy white cum gushing out as his body contracted. 

Red-faced, he collapsed beside Ian, throwing a big arm over the other’s chest. He was still dazed from the strength of the orgasm, along with the pretty little sight he’d seen right after. He glanced sideways at his brother, dazzled by him, and a little ashamed too. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “Did I go overboard?”

Struggling to pull his mind from the cashmere pit of his afterglow for long enough to provide an answer, Ian merely shook his head numbly. He knew his brother would likely be concerned, but he struggled for purchase upon a single sensible thought.

Peering groggily into tender hazel eyes, Ian smiled. It was weak, and it was watery, but it was  _ something _ . And it gave him the courage to attempt speech:

“ _ Amazing _ ,” he panted, eyes falling to trail along his brother’s sweat-sheened body.

He couldn’t imagine how Barley had even managed to voice his inquiry, as numb with pleasure as he felt.

“Your arm,” he offered next, tone tinged with apology as he caught a few disjointed half-moon cuts along the bigger man’s hair-dusted skin.

But Barley sheepishly waved him off, seemingly content with his initial reply and expecting little else.

In time—with their senses renewed—the pair decided it best to venture back into the bakelite embrace of their suburban neighborhood.

For someone who had contributed so very little to their lovemaking, Iandore felt as though he’d been hit by, well,  _ Guinevere _ . Every muscle and every joint in his body ached in the most delicious way imaginable.

He felt well used, thoroughly bred, and entirely loved.

But at the dinner table, he made a promise to himself to keep it together for his mother’s sake. And so he did. The glances he’d received from Colt were incredulous; but the centaur and his stepson kept things lighthearted and lively—Barley shoveling down his food to avoid anything but staged laughter here and there.

At one point, Barley took notice of Colt leering at the red welts along his arm, and tucked it beneath the table and out of sight.

But at the end of it all, upon Iandore volunteering to stay behind and finish dishes, he found his mustachioed stepfather lingering at the fridge; umber eyes studying his lithe frame with a look of sympathy.

But it was  _ Ian _ who made the initial move for conversation: “I-I need to  _ talk _ to you,” he’d said. “ _ Later _ .”

And so it was; the two parting for the evening and well-into the night.

Colt and Laurel entertained themselves with conversations about their busy—albeit mundane—workdays, while their boys were busied with post-dinner showers and after-school projects.

Eventually, Ian would receive a routine text from his brother; singing his praises and inquiring about any potential damage he may have caused. In reply, Ian carefully constructed an answer containing the subtext: ‘I could have handled even  _ more _ , and loved every minute of it’.

And back and forth they went, exchanging loving messages in secrecy, until a comfortable silence had fallen over their household.

At this stage, only the muted roar of the television could be heard throughout their humble abode, and the junior Lightfoot knew that this would be his opportunity for conversation.

And so he stood, adjusting his trademark loungewear before exiting his amber-lit room and descending the stairs to find Officer Bronco alone and lounging listlessly.

“ _ Hey _ ,” the little mage called, offering his stepfather a shy wave and a weary smile. “Can I sit with you?” he inquired, not awaiting an answer as he approached the sofa and seated himself. “Anything good on?”

“Nope,” Colt said, pointing the remote at the TV and muting it. Lights still flickered around the room, cast from the ongoing show. But Colt’s attention was fixed solely on his stepson. “So…” he started, his tone cautious. “You have the floor.”

A doll-eyed expression—held solely for defense—softened slightly; the limber boy’s naïve gaze trailing up the anxious form of his mother’s lover.

“R- _ Relax _ ,” he giggled meekly, shifting in his seat with a little sigh. “I-It makes  _ me _ nervous when  _ you’re _ nervous,” he smiled, fully understanding how his elder must have felt in light of their situation.

“ _Look_ ,” he began, adjusting himself to address Colt more directly, “I-I owe you an _apology_ , for Sunday.” He paused for a moment, arranging his hoodie around his neck. “I . . . I didn’t handle it the way you _deserved_. I-I guess I just—I _clammed_ _up_ on you. And you were . . . _great_. A-About _everything_ ,” he stammered, trying his best to articulate what he wanted to say. “So . . . Thanks, Colt . . . _Thanks_.”

And with a cleansing breath to sooth his nerves, he pressed on.

“I-I just—I talked with  _ Barley _ ? And . . . he’s kinda . . .  _ scared _ ,” he sighed, gaze slipping from his stepfather’s briefly. “That maybe you’ll get tired o-of keeping this a  _ secret _ . And . . . A-And how much time do we even  _ have _ , before s-someone finds something out,  _ right _ ?”

He let his eyes linger along the distance between them, shrugging awkwardly as he finished: “C-Can you just . . . tell me where you  _ stand _ ? Tell me  _ anything _ ?”

In the light from the TV, the centaur's face in the way one would when they're disappointed without being angry. He took a moment to think, tapping his fingers on his front horse leg.

"My stance is the same as it always is for you boys. I want whatever is best for you. I think we both know that if your mother found out, she would put an end to it as quickly as she could. Now I'm no great parent the way she is, but I have had my share of experiences with troubled youth. Not to say  _ you're _ necessarily troubled." 

He glanced at Ian pointedly, as if to emphasize what he'd said. "Sometimes I think forcing the situation isn't always for the best. Sometimes it's better if a young person finds his or her own way, even if it's the hard way. What I mean to say is I think you and Barley are  _ making a mistake _ . But you're both good boys, so I think maybe the best thing I can do for you is to let you both suffer the consequences on your own. And if you prove me wrong, well that'll be an interesting day." 

Sitting patiently and hearing his elder out, Ian offered a teeter of his awkward head here and there.

He hadn’t agreed with everything Colt had said, but the officer’s stance was as generous as it had been days ago. And for that, the lissome wizard held a sense of admiration, and appreciation.

“Well . . . I-I mean,  _ yeah _ . . .  _ Maybe _ —You could be right. B-But, thanks for the chance to try it  _ our way _ first,” he smiled, brows drawn hesitantly as he met his stepfather’s umber stare. “A-And if you ever . . . need to  _ know _ anything? Or  _ talk _ ? I’m all ears,” he offered next, heaving a little sigh of relief. “I-I know this probably  _ sucks _ . But, I’m happy we can talk it over.”

Colt's deadpan stare and single nod indicated that yes, it did suck. He twisted the edge of his mustache and said, "There is something you could tell me, Ian. I would really like an explanation for why you are  _ so _ battered up today. Did… did Barley do that? Or someone at school?" 

The question—while catching the little fey off his guard—came as no surprise. Colt had every right to inquire, and he likely wouldn’t be the last. Ian was entirely certain that Sadalia and Jenny’s curiosity would peak next, and perhaps even some of his previous study-partners—

“O- _ Oh _ ,” he chuckled, suddenly sheepish as he realized his current attire didn’t allow him much in the way of modesty. “ _ These _ —Yeah, these are from Barley,” he admitted, pursing his lips in silent apology, unsure of how much he wanted to explain. But he knew very well that if too much was left unsaid, it could falsely incriminate his brother.

“I-It’s not—He didn’t  _ hurt _ me, though. I-It’s just . . . I bruise easily. It’s . . . It's  _ okay _ . He’s okay.  _ I’m _ okay.”

Ian smiled then, shrugging tensely as he finished his explanation.

Muttering to himself in frustration, Colt rubbed his face. "Well. You might not be aware, but there are plenty of adults who can make love without leavin' marks all over each other. It's the mature thing to do, not showing them off. Especially since your mother would come to a certain officer of the law for help if she thought her boy was in trouble. Maybe you can make everyone's lives easier, What do you say? Think you could pass that along to your brother?"

Ian couldn’t quite chew back a smirk at his elder’s discomfort, but nodded obediently all the same. 

“Sure thing,” he agreed, lifting a nimble hand to run through cerulean curls in a display of raw nerve. “I-I’ll let him know. He can . . . You won’t see them anymore. Sorry,” he promised, a flush blooming beneath his freckles.

“But, uhm . . . A-Anything else?”

Colt looked contemplative. He cleared his throat and said, "So. Let's say you're the first one to get tired of the… arrangement. Do you know how to let a guy down gently? Because Barley, he's a softie all the way through. If it were you, I'd see you roughing it out and coming through. But Barley, you're going to have to be gentle." 

Memories of the previous weekend lit his mind—his sibling’s tears of frustration and concern, scrubbing at his bristled face with bleeding hands—that thousand yard stare as he predicted the arrival of the next man in his Ian’s life . . .

“I-I don’t—” the willowy youth caught himself, shaking his head in an effort to clear his thoughts. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” he murmured, tone dissonant at the possibility. “But I promised him I’d . . . I’d _tell_ _him_ , i-if I ever changed my mind,” he explained with a sigh. “He said—He doesn’t ever want me to feel . . . _trapped_ with him.”

With this, he offered another shake of his head, more in concern than anything.

“But I’m . . . I’m really  _ happy _ ,” he smiled, “A-And I just wanna enjoy being  _ happy _ , right now.”

Colt nodded somberly. “Well, it’s not like I can tell you to quit while you’re ahead, because it seems like you two are already in the thick of it. Anyway, let me know if you need to uh.. Share your  _ feelings _ again.” Once more he cleared his throat, as if Ian’s potential feelings were obstructing his air passage. 

Ian merely parroted his elder’s nod, grinning as he took a stand and rounded the table; leaning in to wrap a wiry hug around the centaur’s sturdy neck.

“ _ Thanks _ , Dad,” he whispered, letting himself linger for a moment to allow Colt the opportunity to return his embrace. “I-I’m gonna get some sleep. Thanks again . . . for  _ everything _ ,” he smiled, pulling away and turning to make his way back upstairs, closing himself inside and allowing himself a heavy sigh of relief.

He wasted little time crossing the room, plucking his phone from its place upon his desk, and sending a late-night text to his sibling.

_ ‘Ian: So, I spoke with Colt. He’s not gonna tell mom, but had a few requests.’ _

_ ‘Ian: Funny requests! Nothing major. I’ll tell you tomorrow.’ _

_ ‘Ian: Love you. You make me happy. See you after school.’ _

And with this, he arranged tomorrow’s attire, primed the contents of his bookbag, and laid himself down to sleep; a lightness of spirit about him that he hadn’t felt in days.

Perhaps—if only this once—everything would work out in the end.

If nothing else, he would fall asleep hopeful.

To be continued.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been supporting us! We deeply appreciate it!

After a grueling day of classes, Barley found himself once again parked outside of New Mushroomton High School. The last bell rang and a flood of students pushed out through the front doors. Their enthusiasm was so much that Barley was surprised not to see them climbing out the windows as well. Barley grinned when he saw a familiar blue cloud of hair floating through the crowd. A few students parted, revealing Ian, holding onto his backpack straps as he always did. 

Barley’s grin broadened as Ian climbed in, tossing his bag on the floor. “Hail and well met, Sir Iandore,” he said jovially. 

A wave of relief washed over him—comforted by his brother’s solar aura—causing Ian to smile in kind.

“ _ Hey _ , Barley,” he greeted, scolding himself inwardly for not matching the man’s fervor. If he were being honest with himself, his first instinct was to throw himself at the lumbering Quest Master before their return home. But he was still a bit sore from the fresh (massive) stretch he was given only a day prior.

And so, he settled instead for conversation; inquiring about his elder’s day, and retracing the terribly short list of happenings in his own . . . And then it hit him.

“O- _ Oh _ , so . . . Before I forget,” he began, shifting in his seat as a sigh escaped him. “About Colt’s  _ request _ . . . He’s afraid mom’s gonna ask about the  _ bruises _ ,” he continued, rolling his eyes, though he knew their stepfather to be correct. “A-And to be honest,  _ yeah _ , I guess we’re not making sure they’re . . . You’re putting them where my clothes don’t always cover them.”

As he finished, he adjusted the necklace beneath his hoodie idly—a recent habit.

“So I told him, I-I’d tell you to put them where they won’t see them.”

Choking, Barley stammered, “Y-You said that to him?! That you’ll make sure I  _ bruise you where he won’t see _ ?” Barley felt as though his soul might escape his body out of sheer mortification. “God… this is… Well I don’t know what the hell the right answer would be, but it’s going to be hella impossible to look him in the eye tonight.” 

Ian smirked, shaking his head at his brother’s queasy composure.

“Y-Yeah, well . . . I just—I didn’t want him to think you were hurting me  _ like that _ ,” he shrugged, enjoying the combination of flushed-yet-pallid washing over his sibling. “You only hurt me because I  _ like _ it.”

With this, he offered his brother a little wink, followed by an awkwardly placed giggle.

“A-And  _ hey _ , if you don’t wanna go home . . . We could finally catch that  _ movie _ ?”

Barley’s eyes widened and he glanced at Ian, surprised at the suggestion. “Really?” Did Ian really want to go, or was he doing this for Barley’s sake? Although if he was just doing it for his sake, Barley had to admit that was still kind of nice. Barley was feeling something small and warm in his chest as he focused back on the road. “You really want to go?”

Somewhere between a shrug and a nod, Ian offered the quester his reply: 

“S- _ Sure _ . I mean,  _ yeah _ . We haven’t done anything fun since Saturday,” he smiled, eyes on the traffic ahead. “Well, besides you fucking me yesterday,” he chuckled, the confession of his own remembrance bringing a little flush to his cheeks. “I-Is there . . . something you wanted to see?”

Laughing, Barley said, “I don’t really know what’s out. Do you want to look it up?”

Blinking at his brother’s inquiry, Ian lifted to pull his phone from his pocket; working his way to the theater’s listed screenings online. He read them aloud, quirking a supple brow at a few of the titles:

A Nightmare on Spell Street   
Dead Bard’s Society   
Honey, I Shrunk The Foals   
St. Elmo's Squire   
Big Trouble in Little Camelot   
Bille & Taed's Excellent Quest   
Claws

“Do any of those sound . . .  _ familiar _ ?” he inquired, a strange smile lighting his lips. “I-I guess I haven’t been to the movies with you in awhile,” he mused, gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he glanced back at the list.

"Well half of them sound like remakes," Barley mused. "Dead Bard's Society sounds depressing from what I've heard. I'll pass on that one. Anything look good to you?"

Ian bit back a cringe at the films available to them, having recalled seeing teaser trailers for at least a  _ few _ of them . . .

“W-Well, I dunno how you feel about Horror movies,” he began delicately, a nervous smile on his full lips as he visibly shrunk into himself ever-so-slightly. “But I-I kinda  _ hate _ them,” he admitted, a little chuckle sweetening his tone as he went. “Have you—You know,  _ ‘Big Trouble’ _ seems like the kind of stuff you like?”

It was somewhere between an inquiry and an assumption, a fresh flush lighting the lissome mage’s cheeks as he found himself a bit uncertain of his brother’s film interests.

“Sounds good to me,” Barley said easily, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. He was well aware that Ian couldn’t bear to sit through a horror flick. He remembered when they’d been younger, and had watched The Polterquest together. Back then, they had still shared a room. Little six-year-old Ian had crawled into his brother’s bed every night for a week. Barley had finally convinced him it was all fake by enlisting Ian to help him prank their mother. They left her stacks of chairs in the kitchen, and a plastic skeleton in the swimming pool, among other things. Laurel had pretended to be terrified, and Ian’s glee finally outweighed his fear.

After settling on the movie, Ian and Barley headed straight over to see an early show. They parked and bought tickets and snacks, and went inside. The theater was dark, the previews already rolling. There were only a handful of people, which made sense for an early show on a weekday. Settling down, they passed a soda back and forth. They’d also gotten popcorn and candy, and each of them preferred one over the other. 

When the movie finally began, Barley snaked his hand over the armrest and took Ian’s in his own. It wasn’t every day that he could show his brother affection in public. However discreet this was.

The calloused hand blanketing his own took Iandore by surprise, and he couldn’t help but toss a swift glance this way and that. But he was quickly emboldened by the darkness of the theater and the distance of their surrounding company. And so, he did what came naturally to him; he craned his neck to catch his sibling’s bristly lips in a (salty) kiss. 

It was brief, and far more chaste than he’d intended, but there was just enough heat behind it to pool in his own loins. And secretly, he hoped that Barley felt the same.

His chosen film was a bit absurd, though as much as he wanted to regret his decision, his brother seemed to be genuinely enjoying it. And at the end of the day? That was Ian’s goal. To have fun with Barley, in a setting the adventurer enjoyed. And in-love as he was, Ian knew that he would gladly endure a thousand or more mindless films for the sake of a single smile from his elder.

The credits rolled and Barley gave Ian’s hand a final squeeze, before reluctantly letting go. As they walked out into the fading sunlight, Barley recanted his favorite parts of the film. After getting out everything he had to say, he glanced at Ian. His brother was smiling, not seeming to have much to say himself. Maybe he hadn’t liked it as much, but Ian certainly looked happy now. 

Once they were on the road, Barley spoke up again. “Hey uhmm, what do you think if we parked out in The Moors again? Instead of going home.” Quickly he added, “Not that I’m going to jump you or anything. I ah, figure you’re probably sore from yesterday. I… don’t want to give up Ian Time just yet.”

An expression of flustered astonishment washed over the sun-flecked wizard, though he found himself nodding in agreement with his brother’s suggestion. 

“The  _ moors _ ,” he chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he remembered the deluge-riddled argument they shared. 

It seemed like a lifetime ago, but only a few precious weeks had passed.

They would be returning as entirely different people, in so many ways . . .

“I-I wouldn’t  _ mind _ if you jumped me,” he grinned next, a flush decorating his veil of humor. “I guess I’m not ready to go home either,” he mused, handling his phone to inform Laurel of their continued outing. 

“Good,” Barley said, chuckling. Cheerful, he drove to their new destination and parked, the vast field of tall grasses now spackled with purple flower bushes. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow between the mountains in the distance. Barley rolled down the front window, breathing in the sweet scent of the fresh air. 

“Okay, Ian Time,” Barley said, whipping off his seatbelt and dragging his brother into the back. They settled down among blankets and pillows, and Barley pulled Ian close, nuzzling his nose into soft curls. 

Laying against the familiar coarseness of his brother’s heavily-patched denim, Ian synchronized his breathing with the steady rise and fall of Barley’s belly. For a time, the two remained silent, thoughts weaving in and out of their busy days; and the effect their current proximity was having on them . . .

“S-So, tomorrow’s Quests of Yore, right?  _ Friday _ ?” the lanky youth began, chocolate gaze steadied upon the mismatched curtains of Guinevere’s rear windows. “You know . . . Uhm, our cousin Neighdyn just got back into town? A-And he invited me to hang out with him . . . But I wanted—Do you think maybe I could go with  _ you _ ?” he asked, voice a bit more hesitant than he’d intended.

Barley blinked, his mouth falling open. “You want to  _ go _ to game  _ night _ ?! Look, the movies were awesome, but you don’t have to play Quests of Yore just for me. And you really don’t want to see Neighdyn? You always seem so stoked to hang out with him at the family reunions.”

Ian’s visage took on a whole new shade of rouge as he studied the patches on the older Lightfoot’s vest. 

“I-Its not—He and I are just . . . going through different things right now,” he explained vaguely, ears slightly dipping as he seemed to cower. “A-And  _ besides _ , we’ve played a few times with Mom and Colt,  _ right _ ? It’s not like I haven’t shown  _ any _ interest,” he smiled, mouth taking on a strange scrawl as he did so. “I-I’ll be  _ super _ quiet. I just wanna listen to the story.”

A large hand reached up to catch the underside of Ian’s drooped ear, stroking it gently. His expression was warm as he spoke. “You don’t have to be quiet. I’d be thrilled if you came tomorrow. I’ll text Max later tonight to put out an extra seat.”

Ears perking at the sound of Barley’s acceptance, Ian offered a sigh of relief as he leaned up to place a thankful little kiss against his brother’s barbed jaw. 

“Thanks, Barley,” he smiled, placing a second kiss into the man’s lips that he allowed to linger just a little longer. “I-I’m excited to see where you’re at—" a pause for another kiss “—in the story.” And with this, he found himself insouciantly pawing at Barley’s shirt, pulling them closer together as he deepened his kisses. “Sorry, I’m just—I’ve been wanting to kiss you again since the movie.”

Grinning, Barley leaned in to kiss Ian again. “That was a nice surprise, for sure, kissing my boyfriend in a dark theater.” 

The term ‘ _ boyfriend’ _ , when applied to himself, always felt so foreign to Ian. Wonderful.  _ Blissful _ , even. But foreign. The concept of anyone being proud to call him theirs—let alone a man he’d been craving in silence over the past three years or more—held a certain kind of enchantment.

But he didn’t answer his sibling just yet, choosing instead to dive in for another series of kisses; forceful and a bit hungry as he shifted to straddle the brawny raconteur. Iandore pulled back then, drinking-in the sight of kiss-swollen lips and unkempt stubble; hazel eyes peering back at him glinting lustfully in the dwindling light.

“Think we could . . . s-switch things up a little bit tonight?” he smiled lazily, seating himself purposefully against the beginnings of his brother’s erection stirring to attention. “I-I wanna fuck you, if you’re ready . . .”

“Huhohh…” Barley slurred as his eyes focused on the young man above him. The haze of lust cleared just a little as he processed what Ian was saying. He’d expected they would venture there in the future, but somehow he was still caught off guard. Now! So suddenly! Ian wanted to be inside of him. The idea of being penetrated was intimidating, and Barley chewed on his lip, his heart pounding harder. But he did want it. He’d jerked off to the thought of being the subject of Ian’s indulgence. His nervous look was replaced by a broad smile. “Yeah, I’m ready. I want you.” 

They surged together, kissing with teeth and tongues, fumbling with buttons and zippers until they’d stripped each other down to bare skin. A shimmer caught Barley’s eye, and he saw the little heart hanging from Ian’s neck. Barley liked seeing it, but he was busy with the wearer. He reached to the side, catching the strap on Ian’s backpack and pulling it closer, leaving it for Ian to go through. He watched as Ian reached into the bag, pushing books aside to find what he needed. Barley’s pulse quickened no matter how hard he tried to relax. 

Retrieving the bottle of flavored lube with trembling fingers, Iandore locked eyes with his elder once again, searching for a sign of reluctance.

“A-Are you . . .  _ really _ sure?” he inquired again, receiving another warm smile and a steady nod of reassurance as he searched between them.

Barley laying there, dense legs slightly spread around him, leaning back against the mess of pillows and blankets beneath them; all bulk and muscle and raw power . . . It was a lot to take in. There was so much about his brother to admire. So much beauty in one place.

“S-Should I . . . try using my fingers first?” he wondered, quirking a brow as he clicked open the cap and applied a bit of lubricant to his fingertips. “O-Or should I just . . .  _ Try _ ?”

Swallowing, Barley said, “I’ve um…” His face went red before continuing. “I’ve tried my own once or twice more since uh… since texting. I th-think you can just try.” He stretched one of his legs, resting the inside of his knee against Ian’s hip, if only for the contact. 

Swallowing in return, Ian offered his brother a saccharine smile, reaching down to coat his already weeping cock with heavily scented lube.

“I-I know it's gonna feel a little  _ awkward _ , but . . .” he laced his (slickened) fingers beneath the bigger man’s knees, beckoning them up a bit. “Can you hold your knees up for me? I probably can’t hold them alone,” he flushed, their difference in strength glaringly obvious to him in the moment. “You wanna spread your thighs, then pick up— _ Right _ . Good,” he grinned sheepishly, watching as the shift in Barley’s positioning opened him up enough to view what he was offering.

The elder Lightfoot’s exposed pucker looked to be clenched iron-tight—likely in a combination of raw nerve and inexperience.

“It’s okay, babe,” Ian chuckled, brows furrowed in concern as he applied a bit more lube to his delicate fingers, circling them against his sibling’s entrance. “I’m gonna be really gentle, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you,” he vowed, adjusting his position ever-so-slightly; assisting the husky gamer to curl inward a bit more, steadying the tip of his cock at the man’s tautness. “I-I’m gonna start  _ slow _ , okay? Breathe in. S-Slow,” he instructed, voice shuddering with need as he allowed himself to push forward and into the hot, merciless grip of his brother’s inner-walls.

It was a struggle for Iandore to remain in-control. In the beginning, at least. The sensations coursing through him were exhilarating and intense. But his valentine gaze—no matter how glazed with lust—carefully studied the Quest Master’s face for a single sign of distress.

“You’re doing good, babe . . . N-Nice and easy,” he smiled, voice as honeyed and sweet as the look in his sibling’s eyes.

And finally, he felt himself reach his hilt; manhood firmly embraced in Barley’s inner-heat as he allowed him a few moments to acclimate.

“F- _ Fuck _ , Daddy . . .” the little mage gasped, jaw clenched as he felt his cock squeezed to a halt within his elder. “You feel so fucking good . . . A-Are you  _ okay _ ? I’m gonna hold s-still. Tell me when?”

Barley released a breathy chuckle, exhaling as he looked up at Ian. “I’m… it’s… nice. Give me a second.” When Ian nodded, Barley let his eyes fall shut. He turned his hips a little, trying to relax his lower muscles and then clench experimentally. Ian hissed and Barley opened an eye. “Too much?”

Balmy hands quivering in-place on the bend of his sibling’s knees, Ian shook his head; offering a bashful smile as he felt himself throb within Barley.

“N- _ No _ , it’s just . . . I-It’s so good,” he stammered, a light sheen of perspiration already kissing his skin by way of nerves alone.

He was trying to keep it together. But being buried inside his hero, accepted in such an intimate way . . .

“I-I love you . . .  _ So much _ ,” he nearly whimpered, voice trembling with raw need as he ducked to place a chaste kiss against one of the bigger man’s hair-dusted pecs. “You feel fucking amazing,” he cooed, voice not-quite his own as he felt his elder relax around him. “Think you’re . . . ready?” he queried, focus lost to a haze of pleasure.

And upon receiving a hesitant nod, Ian began his careful withdrawal; pulling himself out to the head against the vice of his brother’s tightness. And then, he meticulously slid himself back inside; the lean muscles in his frail little core straining to keep him from slamming back into the heated velvet of Barley’s inner walls.

“ _ Fuck _ , its good,” he whispered, breath hitching as he worked them both into a staggered rhythm. “I-It’s so  _ tight _ ,” he groaned, youthful voice cracking under the weight of his inexperience. “I-I’m so fucking—lucky you’re mine,” he breathed next, increasing his pace a bit as he allowed his eyes to devour the sight of his sibling slowly rocking against his own plunges.

The softness of Barley’s body—shimmering with perspiration—bouncing slightly with every thrust of the junior Lightfoot’s willowy body . . .

“ _ All mine _ ,” Ian smiled gently, eyes darkened by carnal desire; scarcely aware of how wonton he must appear.

Doe-eyes heavily lidded, and teeth gnawing at his lower lip in an attempt to remain focused. But he was losing himself to pleasure and instinct, no longer as careful as he’d once been, forcing the whole of his weight against the back of his elder’s knees as he slammed himself inside.

“I-I dunno if—I-I might cum soon,” he gritted, poise discarded in favor of indulgence as he pulled and plunged, attempting to grind into the adventurer’s prostate as he went. “Y-You’re just so tight.”

Barley gasped as he felt something…  _ something _ ! It was intense and incredible, Ian was doing something that had Barley lifting his head off the pillow, legs tensing. He’d been quiet for so long, holding everything in. Maybe he’d been afraid to hear the sound of his own voice. But now, with Ian doing that incredible thing to him, a choked gasp finally escaped. 

“ _ Ian, God _ ,” he whimpered, finally breaking the silence he’d been keeping up. “Keep- what’re y- th-th-the thing- ohh fuuuck…!” Barley released one of his legs and took his dick in hand, jerking himself off between their bodies as Ian pounded over and over in just the right way. He couldn’t miss this. Ian was getting Barley close, and he absolutely needed to cum while whatever this was continued.

Barley’s head fell back again, eyes shut tightly and mouth open as he popped, cum shooting up against his chest as Ian’s dick relentlessly, but not entirely rhythmically, pumped inside of him.

The mere sound of Barley’s pleading baritone had almost been enough to put Iandore over the edge. But if not the sound, then the  _ sight _ . When his brother’s broad hand reached to wrap around his own manhood; beckoning the svelte magician to pound him  _ deeper _ ? It was all Ian could do not to cum on the spot.

Humanity lost, and nerves raw; the merciless clenching around his invading hardness upon the quester’s orgasm, all but tore his own release from him.

“F- _ Fuck _ ,” he’d exclaimed, disregarding any warnings as he poured himself into his elder’s tautness. Rope after rope of hot, liquid pearl spewed into the constricting intensity of Barley’s inner walls. And when it was all over, the fragile youth let himself slump onto the gamer’s heaving body; two lovers relinquished to fatigue and afterglow.

Moments passed with only the sound of ragged breathing left to fill the silence between them, but in time, Ian offered a meek stammer: “I- _ Incredible _ .”

He smiled numbly, peeking up at his sibling beneath a veil of dense lashes; coiled hair embellishing his forehead and ears, clinging to his perspiration as he allowed himself to simply . . .  _ rest _ .

“Thanks for letting me try . . . How was it?”

“It was…” Barley spoke breathily between long pants. “W-Well… I’m  _ really _ hoping you liked it enough to do it again some time.” He reached for Ian, lacing their clammy fingers together. “I’ve never felt anything like that.” 

Offering his elder a lazy chuckle, the slighter man pulled their clasped hands to his lips; adorning Barley’s knuckles in a delicate kiss.

“S- _ Sure _ . . . I mean—I really loved it. I-I’d wanna try it again.  _ Soon _ ,” he smiled, brows quirked as he tried to metabolize his emotions. “I’m gonna . . . pull out, okay? Deep breath,” he warned, letting his half-hardness slide from his brother’s well-used entrance, earning a little shiver in response.

With this, he used the last of his strength to maneuver to the top of Barley’s makeshift nest, laying himself alongside him with a second little slump.

“We can’t stay long,” he reminded ruefully, almost in a groan. “We’ve both got  _ class _ tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, and the whole sneaking into the house smelling like spunk,” Barley mumbled. “I’m calling first dibs on a shower, and I’m sure you can agree it’s for the best.” He turned to look at Ian, dazzled all over again. 

They did a cursory clean-up and headed home, Barley making a beeline for the bathroom while Ian engaged their parents in chit chat from the far end of the room. It was Colt who finally couldn’t stand anymore, and decided to head out for an evening gallop. 

The remainder of their night was spent in the usual way; showering, assignments, and eventually sleep. But as Ian lay awake in his bed—in solitude for yet another night—his thoughts flickered between the unexpected happenings of his recent outing, and the possibilities that tomorrow held. 

He hadn’t met many of his brother’s tabletop gaming friends. Not for any longer than he  _ had _ to, at least. He couldn’t exactly place why their presence tended to unnerve him, save for the fact that they were such a varied lot, and every bit as spirited as his elder.

_ ‘A lot of energy in one place,’ _ he’d often said as an excuse to distance himself from his brother’s comrades.

But it was either them, or face the prospect of spending an entire evening alone with their cousin, Neighdyn—a relative from Colt’s side of the family—who’d moved to New Mushroomton years prior. 

A relative who would worry endlessly about the possibility of him seeing someone—not only outside of the student body—but  _ older _ than him.

And with worrying would come the interrogation, and with the interrogation would come the lies.

And with the lies would come  _ remorse _ .

Details to sort out tomorrow, Ian supposed. But details to keep in mind, certainly.

~*~

The following morning had been a bit of a blur. Ian found his core to be exceptionally sore from the previous night’s activities, but he couldn’t deny the little pep in his step that his latest experience had gifted him.

He felt . . . reinvigorated? 

Something he couldn’t quite place, as a byproduct of his latest experience with his brother. It was  _ nice _ , to be so wholly trusted with something as intimate as their last encounter.

But by lunchtime, he was already beginning to cultivate that familiar sense of dread. One that always accompanied stepping into a room full of his peers, wondering how many of his former pursuers he would have to brush elbows with just for the sake of his afternoon meal—

Just then, a familiar voice called to him from his right, startling him into a little jolt as he slammed his locker closed; revealing a handsome face and warm umber eyes.

“N- _ Neighdyn _ !” he smiled, voice like candy as he clenched his fists—an unwelcome surprise.

Neighdyn was smiling down at him from a significant height, considering he had the legs of a horse. “Ian!” the centaur said jovially, lunging for Ian and pulling him into a spine-popping hug. Ian’s feet dangled for a moment before he set him down again. “Well if you ain’t the shine in my sun, Little Cuz! I weren’t sure I’d see ya today, what with my schedule bein’ all mixed up. You got first lunch now, or second?”

“ _ Uhm _ ,” Ian considered for a moment, rounded eyes rolling this way and that as he transcribed his cousin’s dialect. “ _ First _ lunch? Like always,” It was more of an inquiry than a statement, but he quickly bypassed it, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand.

“H-How was your . . .  _ thing _ ? Did you win?” he smiled, eyes drawing a visible blank as his mind desperately sifted for remembrance.

The strapping young centaur’s departure had been a topic of frequent discussion amongst his parents over the past few weeks. But considering the occurrences between himself and his older brother, he’d been more than a little distracted.

“Hah, aw nah, there were about a hundred or so centaurs competin’, an most of em weren’t from overseas. Them foreign folk are hella serious about it all. I did my best though, got in the top twenty!” He saluted in the air, grinning maniacally.

The centaur, Colt’s middle nephew, clopped along as he and Ian walked to the cafeteria. They turned a corner and Neighdyn stopped short, nearly running into Briar as he did. Despite Briar being bipedal, he stood eye to eye with the centaur. 

“Whoa there, nearly ran ya down,” Neighdyn said cheerfully to the Minotaur. “Good to see ya!” He reached for Briar, who took his hand and shook, his own expression cool. Golden eyes slid down to the small elf, who was only two thirds the height of his equestrian escort. 

“Did you have a good trip abroad?”

“Aw yeah, it was a great time. Food was a little too spicy, but other’n that, it was a good time! Goin’ to lunch?”

“Yes,” Briar said, eyes still lingering on Ian’s before the smaller turned away. “But I’m picking up my girlfriend so…”

“Right, right, well take care!” Neighdyn waved, and both young men stepped around one another. 

Soon enough they reached the cafeteria, grabbed their lunches and found seats. Neighdyn was a popular person to talk to, considering his personality on top of the trip abroad. Ian found himself not only in his cousin’s company, but surrounded by people clamoring to catch up with the handsome centaur. He answered questions politely, occasionally giving Ian a wink to acknowledge him. 

After lunch the bell rang, and the two lingered in the hallway. “So,” Neighdyn said, looking down at Ian affectionately. “Think you’ve got time for little ol me after school today? We could go for a ride like we used to.” 

Stammering under the warm intensity of his kin’s umber gaze, a flush rose to color the little mage’s sun-spackled features.

“I-I’d . . . I’d  _ like  _ to, but,” he paused, allowing himself a moment to gnaw at his lower lip nervously. “I’m actually hanging out with my . . .  _ boyfriend _ . . . a little later, and, uhm,” his brows formed a peak in sympathy, watching an expression of mild disappointment wash over his sizable comrade. “A-And,  _ y’know  _ . . .” 

He ended his confession there, motioning between them slightly as though his gestured inference would be enough to finish his sentence.

“Well shucks,” Neighdyn said, “Somebody scooped ya up like the sweet thing you are. Well I can’t blame them, though I can’t say I ain’t sad for it.” A clop on the ground indicated his step closer. Softly he said, “He treatin’ ya right?”

Every inch of the petite youth felt as though it flushed in response to Neighdyn’s rumbling inquiry, low in the taller man’s throat; adoring eyes studying him closely.

“Uhm—Y- _ Yeah _ ,” Ian smiled, nervously reaching to toy with the apex of his pastel ear in an attempt to calm himself. “He’s . . .  _ too _ good to me, actually,” he smiled, his brother’s solar gaze gracing his memory.

“A-Anyway, what are you doing tonight? Something cool?”

“Oh, I ain’t sure now,” Neighdyn said casually, pretending to examine his blunt fingernails, “Since yer busy, I reckon I might call a friend, see what he’s up to. Been meanin’ to catch an older pal of mine, see if he’s free.” 

They both turned when a teacher called to them, telling the two boys to get to class. Neighdyn turned back to Ian ruefully. “Well, see ya, cuz!” And with that he turned and trotted away. 

~*~

That evening, Barley and Ian got ready and headed out. 

“Are we picking up Lily?” Ian inquired. “I can sit in the back if we are.”

“No need,” Barley said casually. “Lily texted me, and said she’s getting her mom to drive her.” 

Ian nodded, and they continued to Max’s house. They arrived, Barley giving Clarissa a stiff wave when he saw her lounging on the couch. He and Ian headed downstairs to the basement, where their friends were crowded around a table. Among their friends was Max and Arthur, Lance and Lily, and to both boys’ surprise, Neighdyn. 

“Surprise!” Neighdyn said. Standing up on all fours, he clumsily made his way through the cramped area to reach them. 

“Neighdyn! What the hell?!” Barley laughed jovially. The two of them embraced roughly, chuckling and smiling. 

“Thought I’d surprise ya, cuz,” The centaur said, still holding Barley’s shoulders. “Gave Max a call.”

“Well I’m surprised for sure! This is awesome!” 

Neighdyn turned to look down at Ian, who was standing there uncomfortably. He quirked his brow, looking slightly embarrassed. “Didn’t expect to see ya here,” he said. “Thought you had plans with a  _ boyfriend _ . Did ya make him up?”

But Ian didn’t get a chance to answer, because Max was coming up to them. “And I thought Barley was bringing a date himself,” he said before glancing at Ian. “Not that I’m  _ not _ glad to see you, Iandore! But we were all speculating who his date would be.” 

“It’s Ian,” Barley said with a smile, and everyone laughed. They made their way back to the table.

The next few hours were spent in a combination of ease and discomfort, depending on who you were in the room.

Barley seemed entirely unphased and secure. He shuffled through his myriad of character voices, and put on his bravest storytelling face; guiding his inner-circle into the bitter clutches of one quest and onto the next . . .

And Ian had never been more in-love.

He’d laughed, he’d balked, he’d flushed and cringed in sheer embarrassment. But his brother was the brightest star in the room, and so incredibly in-his-element. Even with the unwelcomed surprise of their cousin’s attendance, Ian wouldn’t have given up catching Barley’s showcase of imagination for the entire world.

In time, he found himself swallowing densely; mouth running dry from the salt-riddled snacks and bouts of laughter.

“I’m gonna grab another water, Max,” he announced, voice like syrup as he took a stand and made his way upstairs and into the kitchen.

It hadn’t taken him long to locate the generous assortment of beverages available to the household, and though he would never admit to it, he considered something  _ other _ than water for a moment; a craving for his brother’s soda-sweetened kiss overcoming him as his fingers toyed with an unopened can of Mount Doom—

But the telltale scattered trot of hooves tore him from his thoughts, baby-doll eyes rounding to catch the sight of his cousin approaching from behind; a mellow smile on bristled lips causing Ian to tuck his open palms beneath his wiry arms.

“O- _ Oh _ , hey,” he smiled, a nervous chuckle offered as he stood beside the stack of water and soft drinks awkwardly. “You scared me.”

“Aw come on, I ain’t  _ that _ scary,” Neighdyn said in mock offense. He moved past Ian, grabbing one of the other sodas and cracking it open. His back half leaned against the cabinets, long horse legs crossed as he drank. When he set the can down, he looked at Ian with friendly interest. “I been thinkin’. Wonderin’ what would make you wanna lie to me.” He said it gently, in a non-threatening tone. “Thing is, I don’t rightly know what the truth is. Do you have a boyfriend, or do ya just not want to hang out?”

Ian’s ears dipped slightly at the inquiry. The taller man’s casual nature always caused him to feel a bit more at-east than he might typically.

“I-I dunno, I guess like . . . Lying’s kinda my  _ thing _ ,” he admitted, equally blunt as he took a little step back, shrugging as he went. “B-But I’m trying to cut back,” he laughed. It was a poor attempt at humor, but it was the best he could manage given his usual raw nerve. “A-And  _ honestly _ , y’know . . . You and I have some . . .  _ history _ .”

As he finished, he searched the sportsman’s eyes for a single shred of malice or displeasure, but found none. And in relief, he loosened his grip on himself, if only marginally.

Neighdyn nodded thoughtfully. “Well that’s about as vague an answer as I expected. Suppose it ain’t my business. But hear me out. Let’s say you don’t want to fool around like we usually do, maybe because of a special someone, or you just changin’ things up. I’d like to say that it’s alright. Ain’t no need to feel awkward round me. Ya hear?” He finished with a light punch to Ian’s shoulder.

The little mage swayed a bit, even at the playful nudge, but he giggled into his developing flush. His cousin’s simplicity was always so refreshing to him. So untainted by the complications in which Ian so often found himself entangled.

“A-Are you  _ sure _ ?” he inquired, but quickly received a nod (accompanied by a lighthearted wink) in response. “ _ Okay _ . . . Well, I’m sorry that—for trying to blow you off, I-I guess,” he admitted, brows furrowed sympathetically as he considered his actions. “I didn’t even know you  _ liked _ Quests of Yore,” he smiled, attempting to ease his tension—reaching for that can of Mount Doom after all. 

“I like a little of everything, I think,” he mused. “Course runnin’ll always be my  _ thing _ .” The centaur finished his drink with another long swig and crushed it between his hands. Tossing it in the recycling bin, he turned tail literally, and headed for the basement. 

As evening dwindled into night, Barley’s campaign eventually came to a close; each member of their quaint party collecting their books and notes before assisting Max in tidying up the basement. And when order had returned to the gamer’s household, his friends began to bid each other adieu.

Barley and Iandore had been the last to depart—Neighdyn striding off only moments prior—the elder Lightfoot exchanging playful banter with their host. It was then that Max’s younger sibling decided to approach the trio in the spirit of politeness, but her expression seemed to sour upon observing the lissome youth’s throat.

“ _ Wow _ , Ian . . . Hangin’ around with  _ Briar _ again? Your throat looks like  _ shit _ ,” she tossed, smirking as she reached to expose a little more of the elf’s bruised and neck.

“N- _ No _ , Clarissa,” Ian seethed, expression tense as he tossed her hand away—eyes quickly darting to his brother. “I-I-I haven’t talked to him in  _ weeks _ .”

And with this, a scowl; the cyclops resting her dainty hands atop her toned hips as she rolled her eye.

“ _ Okay _ , Ian. You wanna act  _ sketchy _ ? Fine. But that guy’s  _ bad _ news, and you  _ know _ it,” she spat, not appearing all-that-affected by their fleeting interaction as she sauntered toward the kitchen. “You better hope his  _ girlfriend _ doesn’t find out. The bitch is as crazy as _ he  _ is,” she pressed as she crossed the threshold and out of sight.

But Ian was shaken, doe-eyes carefully trailing toward his elder; attempting to gauge how much he’d overheard, or how much of a spectacle the girl had made of their exchange.

Barley had turned back to Max before Ian met his eye. He was tense, but kept a smile on his face as he said a final farewell to Max. He and Ian went to the car, but Barley didn’t start it right away. For a moment they sat in the dark before Barley faced Ian. 

“Briar, huh? That minotaur senior?”

If not for the cover of night, Ian would have been seen to visibly wince; a little swallow forcing his ears to pop as his fingers traced the seams of his jeans anxiously.

“Y- _ Yeah _ . . .” he mumbled numbly, eyes studying the dashboard as if the premise of facing his brother—even in the dark—was unbearable. “You . . .  _ heard _ .”

It wasn’t a question, so much as a vocalized remorse.

“S-Sorry you had to hear that . . . Clarissa’s—She says hurtful things.”

"Yeah, I didn't care for the attitude she gave you.” He trailed off, his mind on the minotaur more than Max’s abrasive little sister. “So… Briar. He was a first-year when I was a senior. It’s hard to forget someone like that.” Barley sunk forward, rubbing his face. 

Briar had brought a dark cloud with him wherever he went. Fourteen years old and he had picked fights with the upperclassmen and often won. The thought of him anywhere near Ian made Barley’s stomach turn, much less knowing that he had singled Ian out to antagonize. He straightened up, unable to look at him, afraid he might imagine the minotaur’s hands on his baby. He reached for Ian, taking his hand and holding it tightly. 

“I-I didn’t really know you two  _ knew _ each other,” Ian admitted, braving a glance his brother’s way only after his hand had been taken between them. “Did he . . .  _ hurt _ you?” he inquired, not having any trouble imagining the thoroughbred goliath injuring anyone. But had he bothered  _ Barley _ ? At least, he couldn’t have envisioned the lumbering fiend interacting with his sibling in the same way . . .

He offered the quester’s hand a little squeeze of reassurance, beckoning him to meet his gaze.

Exhaling, Barley tried to pull it together. He pulled a flat smile onto his face when he looked at Ian. In a voice as calm as he could manage, he said, “Nah. I hardly even spoke to him. But I saw how he was and I didn’t like it. The younger guys were afraid of him. I just… it sucks to imagine that kid, three years older and bigger, being one of the ones who’s been hurting you. It feels like a worst case scenario.”

And Ian shrugged, brows pinched in sympathy as he offered Barley the kindest smile he could manage in exchange. 

“He’s really . . . He’s got his problems. But he’s not _ always _ —Sometimes he’s—” he stopped himself, a change in his sibling’s tension forcing him to reconsider his phrasing. “He doesn’t really  _ matter _ , anymore,” he assured, resisting the urge to shrug again—a nervous habit.

“S- _ So _ . . . Lily was giving me the eye all night long,” he chuckled, quirking a brow as he switched countenance. “Think she’ll ever try and  _ talk _ to me? A-About  _ you _ , I mean?”

Barley stared Ian down for a moment, just to punish him for so blatantly changing the subject. But then he huffed and decided to let it go for the moment. “Lily… I have no idea what kind of person she is anymore. I was deluded when we were dating. Every time she gave me those big sad eyes, she could convince me that our problems were my fault.” He chuckled. “If she does try to talk to you, just craft her one of your Iandore tales.”

Smirking into a scoff, Ian rolled his fawn-like eyes; squeezing the toughened hand he held despite himself. 

“One of my  _ ‘Iandore Tales’ _ ? Guess I should get that trademarked,” he chuckled ruefully, the little step in his smile revealed as he studied his sibling for a moment of awkward silence.

“Let’s just forget about—I mean tonight was supposed to be  _ fun _ ! A-And it  _ was _ fun! And then  _ Clarissa _ —She’s  _ so _ —” Ian released a growl of frustration—releasing the hand he held, raising his own and giving them a dramatic shake—molded into the shape of talons. “I just . . . I had a great time tonight, Barley. I-I really did. You were  _ amazing _ tonight,” he mumbled, hands rested in his lap as he gave them a nervous clench. “Let’s just . . . Go back to being  _ happy _ .”

Whatever unpleasant feelings Barley had gotten in the last few minutes started to fade. He smiled more genuinely. “Hey, you’re right, Ian. Tonight was awesome. It was so much better having you there. I’d kiss you over it, but we’re still parked in front of Max’s. You ready to go?”

With an approving nod from Ian, Barley turned the ignition and drove off into the night.

To be continued.


	12. Chapter 12

The following several hours had been back to their standard drudgery; double moonlight cannibalized by the prideful sun—pulling Iandore from the solitude of his bed and dragging him along the echoing halls of New Mushroomton High School.

His first-through-third periods cycled on without event, baby-doll eyes lost in their owner’s tactless doodling on the edges of his notebook pages . . . But when lunch break had been announced, and his classmates rose from their seats to pour out of the room and into the halls, Ian found himself displaced.

A part of him had wanted to request his brother’s presence for lunch; the possibility of an afternoon tryst tugging his lips into a satisfied smirk as he recalled their prior entanglement. But his lascivious musings were interrupted by the telltale clatter of toughened hooves on the floor behind him.

And despite himself, his heart fluttered and sank all at once.

“ _ Hey _ ,” the little mage greeted, closing his locker and turning to greet the spirited centaur looming over him. “What’s up?”

“Hey cuz, just thought I’d pick ya up for lunch,” Neighdyn said.

They walked together, picking up food in line and finding seats with Sadalia and Jenny. This time, Neighdyn set his backpack in one of the empty seats, and put his extra drink in front of the other unoccupied seat. He smiled wearily as a few people greeted him while passing by the table.

“What’s all that?” Sadie asked, motioning to the two seats. 

The centaur looked sheepish. “Aw it’s nothin’, just… wouldn’t mind a break is all.”

“Yer fans wearin’ ya down, are they?” Jenny asked, and the two girls chuckled. Neighdyn shrugged with mild embarrassment.

After a while, when their food and drinks were nearly gone and conversations had meandered around, Neighdyn spoke up. “So ladies, I have a question fer ya. Does Ian here have a special gentleman in his life, or was he just pullin’ my leg the other day?”

Ian’s eyes went wide, and so did the girls’. “No,” Sadalia said with confidence. “If Ian had a boyfriend, I’d know for sure.” Jenny nodded in agreement. 

With a flush coloring his sun-spackled face, Iandore pressed his lips into a tight line, glaring (playful) daggers at his inner-circle. 

“O-Or  _ maybe _ , I just haven’t  _ introduced _ you to him yet!” he stammered, crossing his wiry arms in huff. “It’s not like you three meet  _ every _ guy I’m with,” he pouted, chewing the inside of his cheek as he slumped.

The rest of their meal was spent in a tangle of playful banter, and Ian was more than grateful for some semblance of normalcy upon his cousin’s return. Lunches spent without Neighdyn felt notably emptier, and tensions between rival cliques throughout the school seemed to grow unbearably dense; the charismatic equine having always served as a bit of a mediator.

As their break drew to a close, however, he looked to the sportsman shyly: 

“Hey, Neighdyn . . . Uhm, I’ve kinda gotta use the restroom. W-Would you mind coming with me?” 

The reason for his request was seated on the other side of the room. 

Briar sat at a table with his girlfriend and several other athletes and popular friends. His girlfriend was chattering away, oblivious to his lack of interest. Briar himself was staring unblinking at Iandore.

“Sure,” Neighdyn said, taking a last sip of his soda and crushing it flat. He got up with Ian and followed him to the bathroom. “Folks still pickin’ on ya?” he asked, and received a nod in return. The centaur stopped at the entryway to the bathroom. “Well I’ll be out here, unless ya need me in there too.”

Ian chuckled and declined, and then disappeared into the bathroom. Only a moment later, Neighdyn turned to find Briar striding toward him.

“Hey,” he said mildly. “Bathroom’s full. I’m sure Ian’ll just be a min—”

“I doubt that, very much. Pardon me,” the minotaur tossed, voice steadied and mellow as he moved toward the bathroom door once again, only to find Neighdyn’s position was firmly held.

“Give him a minute, would ya?” Neighdyn said. His position shifted, equestrian lower half more directly blocking the door. 

Raising a dense brow as honeyed eyes observed the centaur in disinterest, Briar offered a sigh: 

“Look, March. I never was any good with sharing my  _ toys _ . And currently, you seem to have monopolized my favorite one. So, if you’d please step aside . . .”

Understanding dawned on the centaur’s features, his expression smoothing out before he frowned. “You’re one of em, huh? I ain’t monopolized nothin’ and neither have you.” He took a step forward. “Back off, maze runner.” 

Expression melding into one of vague astonishment, the horned dandy issued a subtle scoff. 

“You like running . . .  _ Right _ ? You’re  _ good _ at running. It’s what you  _ do _ ,” he murmured, tone devoid of emotion as he leaned to rest his silken cheek against his peer’s, lips mere inches from Neighdyn’s ear. “If you ever expect to run again? You’re  _ going  _ to step out of my way, and grant me an audience with that sweet little fuck-hole you call kin.”

The hairs rose on the back of Neighdyn’s neck. “Wh-What’s that supposed ta mean?”

“Crippled horses don’t win races, March,” Briar grumbled, breath warm against his rival’s ear as he held his stance, staring blankly at the door ahead.

And then fell a kiss, soft and sweet against the equine’s cheek.

The centaur stood stock-still for a moment, his future suddenly in the balance. Hooves shifted and he took a step back, and then another to the side. Neighdyn watched as Briar moved past him and into the bathroom. 

Bypassing the weighty threshold with a soft shake of his golden head, the sable-clad toff caught sight of his target; standing at the sink, rinsing soap from his hands . . .

Staring back at him with mild horror.

“N- _ Neighdyn _ —!”

“He’s not coming, freckles,” Briar cooed, stony expression betraying his audible sympathy. “But  _ I’m _ here,” he reasoned, striding up to stand behind the little fey; towering over him as he reached to cease the flow of the faucet. “I’m  _ always _ here.”

And there they stood, watching each other through the spotless mirror.

“Did you hurt—”

“He’s  _ fine _ . . . Better than he  _ deserves _ ,” Briar grumbled, raising broad hands to rest on either of his prey’s delicate shoulders. “So . . . Is  _ March  _ the one? Is he this ‘ _ boyfriend’ _ who’s got you so distracted?”

“N- _ No _ he’s just—”

“Don’t  _ lie _ to me, love . . . We’ve talked about your lying—”

“I’m **not** _lying_!—”

“And  **don’t** raise your  **_fucking_ ** voice to me, either,” he spat, his right hand sliding to cup the pulse of Iandore’s throat, offering it a firm squeeze. 

And then a pause—deathly silent. 

“I suppose he’ll be accompanying you to  _ prom  _ then?”

But Ian only shook his head, brows furrowed as his breathing began to escalate.

“ _ Ah-ah-ah _ . . .” Briar warned, bending at the waist to bring his lips closer to his target's flourished ear. “ _ Smile _ for me, little guy,” he soothed, expression void and eyes glinting with something unreadable.

He slid his index fingers from Ian’s bruised throat, to his trembling lips; lifting them at the corners in a show of forced joy.

“ _ Much _ better . . . So pretty,” he cooed, pressing a tender kiss into cherubic curls. “Now,” he continued, crouching himself just beneath the frail conjurer’s eye level, giving him a little spin to face him. “I  _ expect _ you—Where’s my smile? . . . I expect you to show up to prom  _ alone _ . . . You know that, right?”

And Ian swallowed, fists clenched at his sides as he accepted his penance.

He wanted to feel like he’d felt the last time they’d exchanged bitterness. He wanted to be  _ brave _ . He wanted to stand up for himself. Stand up for what he had with Barley.

But if  _ Neighdyn _ had been rendered helpless by the golden idol before him . . . 

What was  _ anyone _ to do?

And so he nodded numbly, full lips held in a show of forced contentment as misty eyes peered into pools of liquid treasure—matched in shape and color to the ones in his father’s photographs—reflecting an abyss far deeper than the one he’d fearfully crossed two years prior.

“I-I know . . .” he answered, voice sweetened and taught as large hands lifted to caress his freckled cheeks.

And for a moment, he thought he witnessed—

“ _ Good _ ,” Briar offered plainly, standing to his full glory and straightening his victim’s attire. “Now, get out there and let him down  _ easy  _ . . .” the titan advised, voice thick with a sympathy beyond his mellow countenance. 

With this, he offered his elven muse a second kiss; this time gently pressed into his profound nose. 

“And I expect some photos tonight.  _ Pretty _ ones. You know what I like.”

And thus, he made his exit—striding out of the restroom and passed Neighdyn—not bothering to offer him so much as a single glance as he made his way down the emptied halls and into his next class.

For a time, Ian merely stared ahead; eventually allowing the forced smile to fall from his lips as he stilled his breathing. Wiping a stray tear from his eye, he then stepped from the bathroom to find his cousin looming just outside the door . . . Seemingly spooked.

“ _ Neighdyn _ . . . D-Did he  _ hurt _ you?”

The centaur looked away from him, eyes fixed on the wall to Ian’s left. “Nah,” he breathed, without his usual confidence. “Did he hurt  _ you _ ?”

Ian shook his head and Neighdyn nodded. “Well uhm… I gotta… do a thing.” He pointed behind himself vaguely and turned, hooves clopping as he hurried away. 

Ian merely stared after him, a sudden void blooming within that wouldn’t be filled by all the feigned numbness in the world.

“O- _ Okay _ ,” he murmured, trembling lips pressed together as he watched the sportsman slip out of reach, and out of sight.

And then he was alone.

Deserted in the gelid halls of his stone-lined prison.

Adorned in the lingering fragrance of spiced florals and simmering rage.

  
~*~

The day was gloomy, a blanket of clouds overhead as Barley waited outside of the school. He rolled up his window as droplets of rain began to accumulate on the windshield, and sighed. There would be no trip to the park for Blazey, something he was looking forward to doing with Ian.

It was raining in-full when the bell rang, and Barley decided to grab an umbrella and meet Ian at the door. He stood near the overhang, students screaming and groaning as they were forced out into the heavy sheets of rain. 

When Ian walked by without noticing him, Barley called out his name causing Ian to jump.

"Hey," Barley said as he stepped forward, holding the umbrella over both of them. "Come on, I'm parked here." They hurried to the van and Barley held the umbrella over the door as Ian climbed in. He went around, tossing it in the back as he sat down behind the wheel.

"Whew, some weather. Came out of nowhere."

Ian took a bit of time to respond, nodding numbly as he allowed himself a cleansing sigh. For a moment or two, he observed his peers filtering beyond the glass doors; watching for a familiar face. But Barley was pulling out of their parking space before Neighdyn had his chance to emerge.

The limber youth felt he was overreacting.

Nothing had physically  _ happened _ to him. 

Briar had tossed him some cursory threats. He’d talked a good game. But it was all talk. 

Nothing could ever happen within the school without eliciting punishment . . .

But, those  _ eyes _ .

Eyes he’d grown to associate with solace, trust, and endless wonder. Eyes much like the radiant set to his left—steadied upon the traffic and deluge—casting him the occasional worried glance.

Briar’s eyes had always been a step in the right direction. 

A glimpse into a world of possibility. 

Two separate lives he’d never have the chance to lead.

But today, Briar’s gaze glimmered with something Ian wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed, if only for a moment. 

Something sinister, desperate, and lethal . . .

Madness.

Lightless, abyssal, madness—

“Hey—C-Can we talk at the park?” Ian finally spoke, sparing a misted glance toward his elder. “I-I just need to  _ talk _ . But you can’t get mad.”

Something clenched in Barley's gut, worry threatening to overtake him. But by now he knew that Ian needed a rock, not a rock slide.

"Sure, of course," Barley said, his voice calm and controlled. The wipers struggled as he drove farther down the road and turned into the park. He parked under a tree, where the noise of the rain wasn't so deafening. Wordlessly he watched Ian, waiting for him to share. 

Swallowing a time or two—attempting to clear the lump from his throat—the enchanter studied the steady fall of rain. Anything to distract him from the emotions welling up within him, or the tears threatening to spill at any given moment.

“I-I talked to  _ Briar  _ today,” he began, voice cracking beneath the minotaur’s name. “He told me—” a pause for a shuddering breath, “—he d-doesn’t want me to bring a-anyone to prom.”

He allowed himself a pause, breath drawn in shuddering heaves, but he attempted to quell them.

“I-If you show up with me—What if he  _ hurts _ you? W-What if he hurts my  _ friends _ ? What if—” the first tear fell, framed by a stifled sob. “He  _ looked _ at me like—He’s—I-I don’t wanna  _ go _ , Barley. I think we sh-should just stay home. O-Okay?  _ Please _ ?”

“Hey, hey, come here,” Barley soothed, reaching for Ian. He undid Ian’s seat belt and pulled his little brother into his lap, holding him as he cried. Barley felt his blood boiling deep inside, and he had to fight hard not to lose control. “Look, if you really want to stay home, I… I couldn’t stop you, but this is your senior prom. This asshole shouldn’t be able to take that away from you. And what about Neighdyn? He’s going to be there too. I think together, he and I could make sure nothing happened.”

But Ian shook his head, sobs wracking his wiry frame as he allowed himself to relax against his sibling.

“He was—He was  _ there _ . A-And he couldn’t stop him—” he stammered through his sorrow, “N- _ Neighdyn _ —He wouldn’t—e-even  _ talk _ to me. H-He just  _ walked away _ .”

This final comment seemed to tear a few especially taxing sobs from the junior Lightfoot, narrow fists balled tightly as he tried to calm himself. 

“P- _ Promise _ me—” he paused for another tearful outpour, “—You w- _ won’t _ fight him. B-Barley,  _ please _ . Y-You don’t know—what he’s like.”

And with this, he gave in; allowing the remainder of his dissonance to flow from him wordlessly as he clung to the well-worn denim of his sibling’s jacket.

White hot anger coursed through Barley at the news of their cousin’s inexplicable behavior. But it just meant there was one more reason Barley had to keep his head. He felt a lump in his throat, Ian’s sobs hurting him more deeply than most things could. He kissed his forehead, stroking through soft curls with a gentle hand. “Shh, shh,” he tried to soothe him. “I promise you I will never start a fight with him. Okay? That Barley who broke Gwinny’s window is gone. I swear it.”

In time, Barley’s fervent soothing had quelled Ian’s tears; doe-eyes heavy with fatigue as he laid against the gamer’s broad chest.

“Love you,” Ian croaked, voice raw and congested. 

He leaned himself back then, placing a feeble kiss against his brother’s bristled jaw before sliding out of his lap and back into his own seat. 

“We’ve gotta get home. Mom’s gonna start worrying . . .” he sighed, buckling himself in and observing the downpour.

“I-I’m gonna wash my face when I get home. Don’t tell Mom about this,  _ okay _ ?” he beseeched, brows pinched in concern as he entwined his willowy arms. “A-And don’t be mad at Neighdyn. He tried. I  _ know _ he did.”

“Yeah maybe,” Barley said skeptically as he pulled back onto the road. “I guess I can’t blame anyone for being scared of Briar, but I really don’t like the idea of him walking away from you.” He made a quick turn and said, “Text Mom and tell her we’re going to be late. If I can’t beat up everyone who’s mean to you, I can at least buy you a frappe.” 

With a quiet smile, Ian accepted Barley’s offer and the two were off without a second thought. The trip had been arduous—the older Lightfoot mindful of the rain-soaked streets and wavering traffic—but in time, they made it back into the predictable embrace of their tranquil suburb.

Dinner sailed by in blur, neither brother paying all that much attention to their parents’ playful banter. Ian answered his mother’s questions with a practiced façade (one that had Colt visibly concerned), while Barley shoved down his food as if eating his emotions.

Post-dinner, Barley and Colt had agreed to handle the evening dishes; the officer having taken note of the sun-kissed wizard’s demeanor and deciding to allow him some peace. 

He wouldn’t bother interrogating Barley about it. 

At least, not tonight.

In truth, Colt wasn’t certain if he wanted answers. Valhalla  _ forbid  _ it was a lovers quarrel between his stepsons . . .

It was quite some time before Ian had decompressed enough to tackle his homework and allow himself a shower—the hottest he could stand—hoping to wash away the heavy fragrance of his crowned predator that seemed to stain his silken skin.

A stain he wasn’t certain could be washed away with cleansing alone.

When he reached his bedroom—clad only in a towel—he reached for his phone with the intention of messaging his sibling.

Instead, finding a familiar name attached to a cluster of recent alerts.

_ ‘Briar: where are my pics baby boy?’ _

_ ‘Briar: you looked so cute today..’ _

_ ‘Briar: tell mommy your studying with me tonight.. i’ll send you a ride.’ _

_ ‘Briar: [Image Attached]’ _

_ ‘Briar: needing that sweet little mouth right now.’ _

_ ‘Briar: do a good job and you can have it again in the morning.. then you can ride to school with me.’ _

Ian’s blood ran cold, swallowing nervously as he bypassed the messages, leaving them unread to reach for his brother’s name within his inbox:

_ ‘Ian: Briar wants me at his house tonight… I don’t know what to do.’ _

_ ‘Ian: If I ignore him, I’m afraid of what he’ll do tomorrow.’ _

_ ‘Ian: I don’t want to put Neighdyn through anymore than he went through today.’ _

_ ‘Ian: Please tell me what I should do?’ _

Downstairs, Barley had been working on a campaign plan without much luck, his mind drifting back to the boy above his room. He didn’t know how he was going to get Ian through the rest of the year. When Barley’s notifications pinged, he checked right away, brows drawing together. He stared at the words for a while before pocketing his phone. A moment later he was moving around the room, putting on his sneakers and an old Orcblood hoodie to shield him from the rain.

“Going out for a bit,” Barley said to his mom and Colt as he went to the door. 

“Really?” Laurel said. “In this weather?”

“Yeah. I’ll be careful. Love you.”

“Love you too, drive safe.” 

Barley shut the front door and pulled up his hood as he stepped into the rain, walking quickly to Guinevere II.

Moments passed without a reply, and Iandore wondered if perhaps his sibling had become too engrossed in tonight’s assignments to notice his messages . . . 

Until the telltale sound of his elder’s voice echoed throughout their cylindrical home, followed by an exit and the roar of a laboring engine.

A frown marring his youthful features, Ian handled his phone to tap out yet another message:

_ ‘Ian: Did Mom send you out for groceries? You never answered me back…’ _

With this, he allowed himself to slump into his bed, staring blankly at his ceiling as thoughts of tomorrow's plausible outcomes littered his mind. And with a heavy sigh, he opened his prior conversations with his bovine aggressor.

The image attached to the man’s third unread message was  _ indeed  _ a work of art, lewd as it may have been. So much beauty, wasted on such a dreadful creature . . .

Quickly sending off the images he’d taken for Barley several days prior, Ian exited their conversation, not waiting to confirm that the messages had been read.

For now, all that was left for him to do was await his sibling’s reply.

~*~

On the drive there, Barley thought several times about pulling over to text Ian back. But he knew he couldn’t. What would he be able to say? ‘ _ Don’t send him anything. I’m going to take care of this _ ’? Of course he couldn’t say that. Ian would panic. Ian might tell Colt, or borrow their Mom’s car and go after him. Barley didn’t have any idea what he’d do, and he couldn’t risk it.

Anyway, Barley really didn’t know if this would take care of anything. The sad truth was, he didn’t believe that it would help much. But still, Barley had to act. It was not in his nature to be passive. Not since he had stood in the hospital hallway, long after the sound of rhythmic beeping had shifted to a single, flat tone. 

If anything, maybe he could show Briar that Ian was not alone. 

Barley reached the security stop at the front of the gated community. The security guard’s eyes drifted over the van and over Barley, a look of suspicion on his face. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Briar Aux-Gernon, Sir.”

The man rifled through a clipboard on his desk and returned looking even more suspicious. “I don’t see you on the visitor’s list.”

Barley chewed his lip. “Can you let them know I’m here?”

The guard looked doubtful, but asked, “Name?”

“Lightfoot.”

Barley waited for a while, the rain continuing to pour around them. He could see streams forming along the edge of the roads, sliding past perfect sidewalks and into the pristine grate of the gutter. 

“Alright,” the guard said when he finally returned. “Sorry for the wait, sir.”

“It’s no problem,” Barley assured him, although his attention was already on the road ahead, rocks grinding together in the pit of his stomach. After the guard pointed him in the right direction, Barley drove several houses up and parked out front of an imposing stone home, at least three stories high and complete with arched pillars. 

He didn’t wait. Barley walked past a pair of sinister concrete gargoyles before reaching the door, where he pushed back his hood and rang the doorbell. The chime was long and vast, too lofty for the introduction of someone like Barley. He waited for a while until a woman opened the door and looked at him curiously. 

She was most definitely Briar’s mother. A minotaur with many of his same striking features, minus her son’s menacing glare. 

“I can’t believe no one came to the door,” she drawled to Barley, as if he had been thinking the same thing. “I don’t know what I pay everyone for.” Huffing, she looked over Barley with an expression similar to the security guard’s. “Can I… help you?”

Barley took off his hat respectfully, holding it in front of him. “Yes ma’am, I’m here to see Briar.”

The lady of the house’s expression shifted to one of surprise and enthusiasm. “You’re a friend of Briar’s? Oh, well come in, please!” She reached out, a strong hand on Barley’s back as she beckoned him into the echoing foyer. Barley shivered, his rain-soaked clothes dripping on the white marble. “Briar dear, your friend is here!” she called up the stairs in a sing-song voice. 

Barley didn’t look up the stairs right away, his gaze trailing around. There was a fire roaring in a fireplace, in front of which slept two sleek red dragons. One of them rose its head, looked at him, and hissed. 

“Briar?” Mrs. Aux-Gernons called out again, and Barley finally looked up the stairs.

Briar stood at the top, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The young minotaur’s expression was smooth as glass, save for a prominent, outraged glisten in his eyes. 

With a cordial nod toward Barley, Briar slowly descended the stairs. His hulking form was distinctly graceful as he went, eventually coming to tower over the elven fabler as he reached for his calloused hand.

“Mother, you remember  _ Iandore _ don’t you?”

Mrs. Aux-Gernons tipped her head thoughtfully, a manicured hand cupping her chin as she considered for a moment. 

“Ah! That sweet little wizard!” she exclaimed merrily. “The one with the pretty eyes!”

“The  _ prettiest _ ,” he agreed, shaking Barley’s hand in a show of politeness. “Well,  _ this _ is his older brother, Barley. The one he’s always going on about.”

With this, he sized his elder up and down; drinking in his mirrored set of Midasian eyes.

“Well, he’s adorable,” she quipped, reaching out to pinch Barley’s cheek as though he were a child. “Elves are just so sweet,” she chortled.

“The  _ sweetest _ ,” Briar agreed, nodding impassively as his mother stepped away to loom in an entryway.

“Well, I’ll give you boys your privacy. I’ll be down the hall in the lounge. Send a maid if you need anything,” she chirped before stepping away—the telltale clatter of her kitten-heels signifying her distance.

“Well, well,” Briar’s voice was warm, betraying the sterility of his expression. “Lovely to see you, Barley . . . And such a  _ surprise _ . Here I’ve been expecting that hungry little cumdump you call a brother, and instead, I’ve received  _ you _ ,” he drew, raising soft knuckles to brush across the bristle of Barley’s jaw. 

“ _ Funny _ , I thought you liked pussy,” his voice was smooth and hollow, nearly metallic in tone as he trailed his affectionate caress to Barley’s flourished ear. “My mistake.”

" _ Quit it _ ," Barley said, swatting his hand away. The gentle touch on his sensitive ear had made Barley's skin crawl. But it had been a nice distraction from the appalling way Briar had spoken of his brother. Without it, Barley might have lunged at the horned giant. 

Huffing, he said, "Look, I'm not here to suck your bully stick. And I'm not here to fight either. I want to talk about Ian. About the way you've been treating him." 

Quirking a dense brow and blinking slowly, luminous eyes traced the stubble at the elder man’s upper lip; a dejected hum offered as he lowered his hand.

“Shame. You have a nice mouth. You could probably take the bulk of me without choking,” Briar retorted, tone even and unfeeling as he turned to step into the center of the large room. “Well, if you’re here to  _ converse _ , I suppose we should sit,” he sighed, coming to stand amongst a set of deeply tanned leather furnishings

As he took a seat in an oversized armchair, he observed his stocky elven guest meander over to the available loveseat adjacent to him.

“Care for a  _ drink _ , little guy?” he purred, gaze glimmering with something empty and cruel. “The help here is fairly attractive, if you’d like some company during your stay.”

He never smiled, he never faltered. He just . . .  _ was _ .

When Barley walked into the parlor, he looked down at the loveseat and decided that it was too expensive to sit in with wet clothes. But upon walking past it, the dragons on the floor began to tremble and hiss menacingly, and he realized that they were scared. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Briar kicked them around when he was alone. 

Ignoring Briar’s obscene offers, Barley continued where he’d left off. “Ian doesn’t deserve to be treated this way. I think you’ve done enough to him, and I’m here to ask you to leave him alone. He deserves to go to prom with whoever he wants, and he deserves to enjoy what’s left of his last year of high school.”

“And . . . In what way, precisely, do you propose he’s being  _ treated _ ?” Briar wondered, tone caught between amiable and devoid. “What has he told you about the things we do together? What has he told you about the way he enjoys being pleasured?” he inquired, one of the dragons shivering at his nearly inaudible change in tone.

“Your brother is a  _ whore _ , Barley. And I’ve been laboring to break him of his disgusting habits. To keep him  _ faithful _ . . . But you know all about  _ that, _ now don’t you?”

Barley was on the verge of snapping, fists tightening at his sides. “What the fuck are you—” He stopped short, head tilting to the side. “What do you mean,  _ I ‘know all about that’?”  _

Briar merely blinked, raising a brow as if Barley’s inquiry were in a language he didn’t speak.

“You  _ know _ , beneath the stench of unwashed skin, I smell a learned man. Like a musty old book, tucked away in its case—And I know it isn’t  _ Bustler _ I’m smelling,” he quipped, expression stilled to perfection, but voice lingering on humored.

“I’ve been smelling you all over my sweet boy for  _ weeks _ , Barley. But I couldn’t place a name to the scent until you arrived at my door. It stunned me as soon as you entered. I certainly hadn’t expected it to be  _ you _ —His  _ brother _ .”

Something icy crept down Barley’s spine, like a frigid snake. His mouth fell open but he couldn’t speak for a moment. Their secret could be discovered just like that? He really didn’t know enough about minotaurs. Barley’s mouth flattened into a thin line before he licked his lips, not breaking eye contact with Briar for even a moment. 

“Well,” Barley said flatly, “I guess if what they say about minotaurs is true, our families  _ do _ have something in common.”

And then a laugh: Thunderous, hearty, and manic. It glanced along the spotless walls and high ceiling, the twin dragons scattering like leaves at the sound of it; tripping over each other as they bounded down the halls . . .

“ _ Touché _ , little guy . . .  _ Touché _ ,” Briar grinned, revealing a perfect set of teeth—save for an extra pair of canines adorning his lower jaw. “So is this an older brother’s protection? Or is this a lover’s jealousy?” he wondered, a sterile smile left to him as he cocked his head curiously. “Perhaps  _ both _ ?”

Barley watched the dragons dart off, and he too, was ready to leave. Being here wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t comfortable. All he had wanted was for it to be  _ productive _ . “Tch,” Barley blurted without thinking. His mind was still turning over possibilities to finish this, although not much was coming to mind. “I’m not jealous of you,” he said easily. 

“That so? . . . Then, tell me; how have you been enjoying my little toy? His throat is amazing, isn’t it? Though, I’d be willing to bet you’ve been using him for far more than that. Having fun dumping your muddy seed into someone as rare and valuable as your baby brother? Does it make you feel like you’re  _ worth  _ something?”

All humor had escaped Briar at this point, his sclera kissed by rouge as he observed his elven prey with an expression of monotony.

By now, Barley had become immensely disturbed by Briar’s choice of words, and he had a feeling he wasn’t hiding it well. Sure, he could agree that there was nobody in the world like Ian. He was wonderful and he was unique. But something about the minotaur’s phrasing… about being ‘rare’, sounded like something else. At home, Barley had a set of pewter figures for Quests of Yore, one of which was rare. And that was it, that was the way Briar saw him. Like Ian belonged behind glass. 

“Well yeah,” Barley said, as if it were obvious. “If he doesn’t make you feel that way, then you’re wasted on him. But I don’t think that’s true for you. That’s probably why you haven’t made him sleep with you. You know you’re not good enough, and you wanted to keep him ‘new in box’.” Barley shook his head. “You really don’t get him at all.”

A stillness came over Briar then, reddened eyes widening as if he’d received a haunting premonition. And he found his breath quickening, followed by a throbbing in his head that made his world begin to spin.

“And what makes  _ you _ deserving? Answer me that . . . More deserving than me? A thoroughbred—None of you understand. What makes it so easy for you to pollute him? How could you  _ do  _ that to something so precious?”

Slowly Barley took a step back, distancing him from the insanity. It was surfacing in Briar like grey water backing up in a clogged sink. Barley didn’t want to be around when it finally spilled over. 

Barley shook his head. “He’s not going to thrive in your trophy case, Briar. Anyway, I think I’m done here. We’re obviously not getting anywhere.” He started toward the door. “See you at prom.”

The image of Barley walking away—abandoning him as though he weren’t worth his effort—struck a chord in Briar.

A last straw, if you will.

And no sooner than his brawny elven conversant had crossed the towering double doors to step outside, was Briar on his feet; eyes stained crimson as he lumbered toward Barley, a firm grip thrusting to light upon the man’s broad shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from  _ me _ , you filthy peasant,” he seethed, spinning his captive to face him as he struggled to control his breathing. 

There was so little clarity left to him then, anyone who claimed to know him may not have recognized him. 

“If I  _ ever _ smell your  _ stench  _ on him again, I swear I’ll snap your worthless spine, elf. Do you understand?”

But his actions hadn’t gone unobserved. 

A few stray neighbors were already zeroing in on the confrontation, trudging through the outdoor deluge. A few senior members of the community—cloaked in raincoats—whispered under their breath, while the younger observers seemed to ready their cellphones; some for video evidence and others to place a call.

“ _ Briar _ ? Everything alright, son?—”

“Stay  _ out _ of this, you old cunt,” the minotaur snapped, leering towards an elderly Satyr woman peeking over her neighboring hedges (umbrella in-hand).

But his attention promptly slithered back Barley, his fingertips digging into the man’s muscular shoulder as he gave him a firm shake. 

“Answer my  _ fucking  _ question, you grimy mutt.”

With all of his strength, Barley shoved at Briar’s hulking chest. Like he’d expected, Briar was too strong to be moved, but instead the motion propelled Barley backward, pulling himself out of the minotaur’s grip. Now free, he took another step back to put distance between them. In seconds, the rain had drenched him all over again, his hair clinging to his face.

“I don’t care how big you are,” Barley said loudly through the rushing sheets. “I don’t care about your threats. I’m not afraid, and I am not going to let you have Ian! He’s my brother, and I will never, ever let him go!” 

Barley turned and stormed off toward the van, unaware of the neighbors watching. In his peripheral he saw a car approaching with blinking lights, undoubtedly the security guard here to escort his grungy ass out of the pristine little neighborhood. Barley was more than happy to go.

“Is that so?” Briar mumbled, striding forward and shoving the stocky gamer into the hood of his rusted van. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. My ability to  _ cripple  _ you isn’t leveraged on fear. It’s leveraged on  _ power _ ,” he seethed, taking Barley by the scruff of his drenched jacket to hammer him into the hood of his van.

For someone he perceived to be so insignificant, the stout elf was certainly hardy; the bulk of Briar’s fevered slamming doing little to cause him much in the way of visible harm, save for a busted lip and a bloodied nose.

And the shouts and screams around them were lost to the roar of tension in his ears.

Briar hadn’t noticed his mother shrieking from the doorway. 

Hadn’t noticed the rubber bullets pelting his broad back. 

Hadn’t noticed anything but his own white-hot fury, and the terror of being swallowed up within it.

That is, until the security guard was joined by a few other figures—each brandishing a weapon of some form—each weapon entirely lost on his molten anger.

But a searing pain in his side finally drew his attention from Barley, who he’d been toiling to break against the hood of his vehicle; the enraged minotaur rounding to find a small pool of police officers had developed behind him.

Thoughtlessly he dove in, pinning a sturdy looking troll against the rain-soaked ground and plunging his fist into the man’s frightened face.

Once, then twice more; rendering him unconscious in seconds. But he pressed on, unable to stop himself even after the man’s cheeks had been split against his broken teeth.

It seemed as though—regardless of the many efforts to cease his assault—little progress was being made.

Barley had fallen to the wet ground the moment Briar released him. But he was up instantly, staggering around until he got a grip on his side mirror. He saw double as he tried to look at what was in front of him, two swirling sets of the same vision, further obscured by the rain in his eyes. Briar was  _ pulverizing _ someone on the ground. People were shouting. A woman was screaming and crying. Barley’s ears were ringing overtop of it all, and he couldn’t feel his face. 

Loud pops broke through the ringing as he heard the police firing at the minotaur, but he barely seemed to notice. Still dizzy, Barley stumbled forward, throwing himself at the rage-blinded beast. Barley’s arm went around his neck, jerking him back with all of his might. Briar roared, swinging a sharp elbow into Barley’s face. Lights danced in his vision as he fell back into the flooded gutter, knocked out cold. 

~*~

The sound of steady beeping was interrupted by a strained groan, and from the chair beside his brother’s hospital bed, Iandore opened his eyes.

Barley looked a bit swollen in places—bruised here and there—but the fact that he was awake at all . . .

“ _ B-Barley _ ?!” Ian called, bouncing to his feet in an instant, looming over his elder’s resting form. “You’re awake—Don’t try to move! J-Just take it  _ slow _ , okay?”

Barley reached up to rub his aching forehead and winced, pulling back immediately. His skin didn't feel right. It felt puffy and sensitive. Experimentally he began to touch the rest of his face, without putting pressure down as he had a moment ago. Much of it felt unfamiliar, as if it was swollen or banged up. 

"Ungh.. Errryone okay?" He slurred as the blurry memory of a pulverized officer passed through his head. The man hadn't looked alive. "Wh-What happened…?"

Fresh tears welling in his eyes, Ian couldn’t help but run a timid stroke along his brother’s IV-laden arm.

“E-Everyone’s—Look, I-I can’t  _ believe _ you— **_Why_ ** were you—” he stopped himself, a rage searing through him that was quickly quelled by a groggy glance from his older sibling. 

And so with a bitter sigh, he steadied his nerves. 

“Everyone’s . . .  _ fine _ . We were just  _ worried _ about you,” he informed as calmly his mood would allow. “Mom and Colt were just here a while ago . . . Corey and Neighdyn too. Arthur, Lance and Max even came by . . .  _ Everyone _ wanted to see you.”

With this, he bent himself at the waist, stooping to press a gentle kiss into his brother’s oily hair. He allowed himself to linger, swallowing a sob as best he could.

“I-I didn’t know if you’d wake up,” he croaked, attempting to smile through his tears. “I just . . . I can’t  _ believe  _ you did something so  _ stupid _ , Barley. I could have  _ lost _ you . . .”

He sniffled, leaning in to place another kiss into his brother’s tender head.

"Didn't break my promise," Barley muttered. "Wasn't... wasn't trying to start a fight." He didn't look at Ian directly. For the moment he had, Ian's emotions were too strong for him to handle. Staring at the wall beyond the foot of the bed, he continued. "Just… hurt too much to do  _ nothing _ . I can't just stand by and watch you suffer. I just can't." His arm moved on the bed, bumping into Ian's leg as he reached for his hand.

Allowing himself a few more cherishing kisses, Ian raised himself away from his battered protector; mindful to take the hand he was offered.

“I-I know . . . I know you were trying to help . . . I-Its just—anything could have happened,” he reminded, releasing a shuddering sigh. “They said you got really lucky . . . Nothing broken, and nothing fractured,” he gave Barley’s hand a loving squeeze. “I told them you’ve always been  _ tough _ .”

Barley smiled but immediately regretted it, feeling a sharp pain in his lower lip. He met Ian's eye, silently pleading for an honest answer. "That cop… did he...?"

Ian’s face softened considerably, a quivering sigh and a teeter of his cerulean head serving as a partial answer.

“I don’t . . . We don’t  _ know _ ,” he replied, thumb stroking his brother’s calloused hand soothingly. “Colt said he was . . . He was in really bad shape. He’s been in the ICU since last night,” he explained, sniffling softly. “A-And that could have been  _ you _ , Barley . . . It could have been  _ you _ .”

"Could have been you too," Barley said, completely serious. "That guy was a time bomb. Think he might be in love with you, in the I'll-keep-your-head-in-my-freezer kind of way. Where is he?"

Ian offered a muted scoff—barely audible as he entwined his fingers with his brother’s.

“He’s . . . D-Did he  _ tell  _ you that?” he inquired, voice caught between fear and mercy. “That he was in-love with me?”

"Er, not exactly. Don't even know if he's capable. But he was… fixated? You know that's why he never tried to sleep with you. Thought you were too good for sex." Barley smirked painfully. "How boring is that?"

Drawing his lips together, fawn-like eyes traced the broken skin of his elder’s mouth as he metabolized his words.

There were some things—venomous as they may have been—that maybe only he and Briar would ever truly understand about each other. 

He wanted to explain to Barley what his aggressor’s physical reluctance had meant to him. 

To inform Barley of the intricacies between them. 

The delicacy of their history.

But today? Not a single word.

Perhaps, with time and healing, the proper situation would present itself.

“They arrested him the night he attacked you,” he stated, voice a bit hollow as he considered catching his brother’s gaze. 

But he  _ couldn’t _ . 

Not just yet. 

“Colt says he won’t be out for . . . a long time,” he offered, a rueful smile lighting his full lips. “A-And . . .  _ Yeah _ . That’s—”

He stopped himself, shaking his head and meeting Barley’s eyes to offer a wistful smile.

“His  _ mom  _ sent you flowers,” he reached for a change of subject, motioning toward an over-embellished bouquet upon the bedside table. “And a big bag of Gorgon Zola’s Cheese Puffs.”

But Barley didn't look at the flowers. He let go of Ian's hand and shifted, grimacing as undiscovered pain surfaced around his body. His chest hurt, his neck hurt, and his shoulder was killing him. Wonderful. He ignored his brother's panic as he shifted over to make room in the bed. "C'mere."

Once Ian had hesitantly climbed into bed beside him, Barley took his hand once more. Their noses touched as Barley spoke. "I don't... I don't want you to feel like you can never trust me again. I feel like you keep giving me chances and I keep fucking it up. But if there's something you're holding onto…" he trailed off, stroking a large thumb over Ian's delicate knuckles. A hand that had never thrown a punch.

Ian’s eyes were glassy as he listened, swallowing at the soreness in his throat as he shook his head.

“Right now, I just wanna be with you,” he smiled—but there was so much beneath the surface. “One of these days, when . . . when all this is  _ over _ ? I-I’m gonna tell you everything,” he promised, attempting to dress his sorrows in relief. “But not today,  _ okay _ ?”

It had been both a request and a statement—but in his heart, it felt like a law.

“I-I don’t wanna think about anything but  _ you _ ,” he smiled, the last tear he would allow himself escaping him as he craned for an endearingly chaste kiss; positioning himself to snuggle against his brother’s might.

To be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, Chapter 13 will be the final chapter. But we have some fun news as well! If you are interested in seeing art concerning Butterfly Kisses, including Neighdyn, Briar, and Tanner, please check out motherofrevels's twitter account! There is, of course, lots of other Barlian art there as well! @indielovedarlin


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter. We hope you enjoy it!

The following day had been a tense and unusual one. No one could ever question that.

From the bus ride to school, to the morning’s first period; people were whispering. Some out of intrigue, a few out of pity, and others out of malice.

Briar’s absence from the day’s roster had come as quite a shock to some, while others had predicted him to end up behind bars sooner than he  _ had _ . His girlfriend, on the other hand, made certain she’d arrived bright and early; soaking up every last drop of attention she could get her twenty-four karat manicure on. She’d placed herself squarely in the eye of the storm, while Ian shied as far away from it as he could.

People he’d never once spoken to had suddenly taken an interest in his life. Two years prior, this would have been all that he’d yearned for. 

But now? 

_ Now  _ he was ducking through the halls, struggling to avoid eye contact as he moved from class to class, wanting absolutely  _ nothing _ to do with the intrusive inquiries and lingering stares.

_ ‘Why did he do it?’ _

_ ‘How isn’t your brother dead?’ _

_ ‘Did you put him up to it?’ _

_ ‘What if Briar’s family steps in?’ _

_ ‘Did they serve you guys an eviction notice yet?’ _

_ ‘He’ll be back out in no time.’ _

_ ‘What was your brother even doing over there?’ _

_ ‘Your brother was selling him drugs, right?’ _

And on and on they went: An endless carousel of theories and accusations. Both to his face and behind his back. 

It was everything he’d dreaded might happen.

But in a way . . . It was such a relief. 

Everyone was  _ watching _ him now.

With all eyes on him—in light of Monday evening’s occurrence—he wouldn’t require an escort to the restroom. And he wouldn’t be required to go hungry and thirsty at school, for fear of being  _ stalked into _ said restroom. The sportsmen who had once taunted him, now strayed from him in the hallways. 

Everything was ruined now, and it was a marvelous time.

Hours sailed by in a blur of nerves and anxiety, and when at last he was released, it was Neighdyn who’d offered him a ride home. His black-pearl Frizian—a pre-graduation gift from his father—glinting heroically in the late-afternoon sun.

“I-I feel like this car’s too nice for me to even . . .  _ sit _ in,” Ian laughed as he ducked into the passenger’s seat. “I’m so used to  _ Gwinny _ . . .”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a good vintage ride,” Neighdyn said on Guinevere’s behalf. “Anyway, yer probably the cleanest thing that’s been in this car in awhile.” 

Ian chuckled nervously, looking away in mild discomfort. They drove quietly for a while, first slowly through the school parking lot, and then faster on the road home. 

“Ya know…” Neighdyn said after a while, “I er…” He cleared his throat and then put his blinker on, pulling off onto the side of the road. With his attention now free, he turned to look at Ian directly. The humor that had graced his tone just minutes ago had melted away. Remorseful eyes searched Ian’s face. “I… I failed you, Iandore. You put yer trust in me and I let that monster in. Knowin’ what he did to Barley, I just thinka what he coulda done to you. He coulda killed you with one blow. And that woulda been on me. What’s a hurt leg next to  _ you _ ? It’s nothin’. So I uh… I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But if you’ll allow it, I’ll make it up to ya so long as you know me.” 

Doe-eyes softened at the centaur, freckled cheeks flushing beneath the earnest intensity of Neighdyn’s dusky stare. “I-I don’t—You don’t have to—You didn’t do anything  _ wrong _ ,” the mage stammered, smiling as sweetly as he could manage.

“A-And you don’t owe me  _ anything _ . I don’t—” he paused, swallowing densely, adjusting himself in his chair. “Your legs are your  _ life _ , Neighdyn. Y-You’re a runner . . . A-And I’m just . . .  _ Ian _ . I-I’m nothing special,” he explained with a shake of his head. “If he would have hurt you—I don’t even wanna think about it . . . So l-let’s . . . Let’s just forget it. O-Okay? Just . . .  _ forget _ about it.”

“ _ Just Ian _ ,” Neighdyn repeated, rolling it around on his tongue like something unpleasant. “I ain’t gonna forget about that failure so long as I live. You don’t deserve—You need—” The centaur huffed, staring at the steering wheel. And then he turned back to Ian, deep frustration across his features. With strength in his voice, he said, “Where is yer so-called-boyfriend, Ian? The one who should be here for you? Who should be takin’ care of you? Where is he?!”

Ian’s eyes widened, his lips parting helplessly: “I . . . I—”

“Because I don’t think he exists,” his cousin said finally. And then without hesitation, he took Ian by the back of his neck and leaned in, pressing their lips together. 

Upon instinct, Ian dissolved into Neighdyn’s kiss, eyes rolling closed despite his initial panic; the bigger man’s tongue effortlessly bypassing his lips . . .

Neighdyn tasted of stability and safety: Quaint and crisp.

Memories of their family gatherings (and surprise drop-ins in between) danced behind the spellcaster’s heavy lids as he allowed himself to be tasted and explored. Many times within the past two years—those memories, and these tender kisses—had been some of his only saving graces. Some of the only comforts he’d known in the face of his developing adversities . . .

But as he’d recently come to find, stability and safety had many forms.

_ One _ of them had risked life and limb for the opportunity to protect him from harm.

And the  _ other  _ had walked away from him; abandoning him in the echoing halls of his personal Hell.

So with a trembling raise of slender fingers, Ian pressed at Neighdyn’s chest to halt him. And indeed he did, ceasing instantaneously; a single invisible string connecting their parted lips.

“ _ Neighdyn _ . . . I-I’m  _ sorry _ . I just . . . We  _ can’t _ ,” he swallowed, the taste of green apple lingering on his lips. “When the time’s  _ right _ . . . I promise, I-I’m gonna explain. But right  _ now _ , I’ve gotta get home to Barley . . .”

He allowed his gaze to linger upon Neighdyn’s then, heavy with lust and frustration as he pressed into the rippling strength of his cousin’s chest. A part of him hoped that perhaps his eyes alone would tell the centaur all that he needed to know . . . 

Neighdyn did seem to understand, almost too easily. He nodded and looked away, focusing back on the steering wheel. “It’s okay. I… I haven’t earned that. Like ya said, let’s forget this.”

Shifting gears, they slid back onto the road and made their way to the mushroom-lined neighborhood. Neighdyn pulled his car along the curb and parked. After a brief and uncomfortable adieu, Ian left the car and headed inside.

“You should be lying down!” Laurel shouted with annoyance. 

“I’m fine!” Barley insisted, sounding harassed. 

Mother and son were standing in the kitchen, pots and pans strewn across the floor. Wearing sleep shorts and a faded band-T, Barley was busy reaching for the top of the kitchen cabinets. Blazey was curled up above them, possessively holding a bone. 

“ _ Come here _ ,” Barley cooed, and the dragon curled up more tightly against the wall. “Come on, girl, you know those give you tummy aches.” 

“Oh hi, sweetie,” Laurel said when she noticed Ian in the entryway. “Blazey stole one of my broth bones and we can’t get her down. Honestly I can’t figure out how she got up there.” 

“She hopped onto the counter, then the fridge, then the cabinets,” Barley said knowingly. “Come on, girl!” Reaching up, he lunged, the dragon yelping indignantly as he grabbed her around the middle and pulled her down. “Gotcha! Okay, let go!” 

While wrestling with the feisty little dragon, Barley glanced upward and gave Ian a battered smile. “Help me out here. She might listen to you.”

The welcome rush of predictable chaos graced Iandore’s flourished ears upon entering his home; a little smile tugging at his lips as he allowed the awkwardness from his ride to be drowned out by the clatter and clutter of his household.

“ _ Blazey _ !  **_Stay_ ** !” Ian barked—firm and warm—causing the seemingly boneless little wyrm to go limp in Barley’s arms. Laurel stepped up to her then, plucking the bone from her mouth and giving it a firm shake.

“You’re so  _ bad _ ! Bad girl!” Laurel scolded playfully, giving the willowy dragon a gruff ruffle of her underbelly before setting about rinsing off the bone.

Docile eyes trailed along bruised bulk as Barley ducked to set Blazey down; a wince of sympathy offered as Ian drank-in the full extent of his elder’s damage.

“Mom’s  _ right _ , Barley . . . G-Go lay down and I’ll grab you a soda,” he smiled, trying not to sound bossy. “ _ Please _ ?”

“Okay  _ Mom _ ,” Barley said to Ian, but his bruised eyes were playful, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“So he listens to you, now?” Laurel said from the sink.

“What can I say?” Barley replied as he passed Ian, his knuckles brushing against Ian’s hand as he went. Barley headed to his room, not more than a few paces away, and sprawled out on his bed, his lower belly peeking out from beneath the old shirt. For the moment that he was alone, he wondered again how Ian’s day had been. It was something that had loomed in the forefront of his mind for most of the day. Ian alone at school, Neighdyn unpredictable, and all of the chaos from the news making its way around the halls. There was so much Barley didn’t know. How many people knew they were brothers? Would Briar’s friends give Ian trouble? He watched the door, anxiously waiting for his brother to join him.

Stepping into the stout gamer’s musky bedroom, Ian quirked a full brow as valentine-eyes zeroed-in on the cerulean trail of hair along his brother’s exposed lower belly. He smirked then, licking his lips in suppressed desire—and immediately tasted the tart sweetness of sour apple . . .

His heart sank a bit as he closed the door behind him, handling his brother’s glass of ice and unopened can of soda.

“How’s your head,” he queried, crossing the room to take a seat beside his hero’s tousled brawn. “You look . . .  _ hurt _ , Barley.  _ Really  _ hurt. A-And I hate it,” he sighed, nimble fingers going through the motions of preparing his brother’s drink before handing it off to him.

“Thanks,” Barley said as he sat up and accepted the drink. “It’s not so bad, nothing permanent.” He threw his arm over Ian’s shoulder as he took a sip, studying Ian as he did so. “What about you? Was school awful?”

Ian’s heart raced, the warmth and scent of the older Lightfoot blanketing him in neon daybreak as his posture tensed.

“U- _ Uhm _ . . . It was . . . It was  _ different _ ,” he admitted, smiling numbly at the space between them. “Lots of people talking . . . And lots of people staring, but—” he cut himself off, meeting his brother’s golden gaze in a moment of fleeting bravery.

“Barley, uhm, N-Neighdyn  _ kissed _ me,” he admitted.

And he let it linger; a moment of silence developing into an uncomfortable pause.

“H-He was just  _ upset _ ,” he quickly added, “He a-asked me where this boyfriend of mine was when I’d  _ needed _ him, a-a-and he said he didn’t believe he existed, and he just . . .”

His whole world was raw adrenaline as he spoke.

Barley had informed him—from his place within his hospital bed—that he wanted Iandore to trust in him. Wanted him to let go of the secrets he was still holding onto.

“A-And as soon as I asked him to, he  _ stopped _ .”

Barley watched him, listening in utter shock. “Uhh, wow. I had no idea he felt that way. Are you okay? Did you… Has he ever said anything in the past?”

Ian felt so heavy. The weight of his history with his cousin bore down on him then, and he struggled between the safety of falsehood, and the freedom of admittance.

“I-I’ve, uhm . . . He’s . . . I’ve  _ known _ . B-But it was before you,” he stammered, eyes slipping to the overgrown stubble lining his sibling’s mouth. “He won’t do it again. So, don’t worry,  _ okay _ ? I  _ promise _ . He’s not like that. We talked about it. H-He’s  _ respectful _ . He’s just . . . trying to deal with his own stuff.”

"Sure, of course," Barley said gently. “I mean, I always thought he was a good guy. So unless you say otherwise?” He shrugged. “Is it too awkward to get rides home from him now? I could drive you home tomorrow. I can see pretty well out of my left eye now.” 

Ian shook his head, searching his brother’s face, taking note of the swelling.

“ _ Barley _ ,” he began, rolling his rounded eyes, “Just . . . take it  _ easy _ . Okay? I’ll be  _ fine _ ,” he assured, leaning into his elder’s embrace. “I just want you to relax . . .” he trailed off, craning his neck to place a tender kiss against the man’s cheek. “ _ I love you _ ,” he murmured, full lips ghosting along his Barley’s ear before planting another kiss there. “Anyone come by to visit you today?”

The hairs rose on Barley’s arms as he felt Ian’s dainty show of affection. In close proximity, there was a hint of some unfamiliar scent, and Barley wondered if he’d been indulging in the sweets he loved. Smiling at Ian, he played with the curls on the back of his head, twirling them around his finger. 

“Yeah, it was kind of busy today. The game night guys showed up, Cory stopped by, even one of my professors stopped over to see how I was.” His expression changed, the corner of his mouth doing a funny thing as he said, “Jay stopped by too.”

Ian’s face immediately brightened—then quickly (forcibly) softened—his head reared back in a show of involuntary surprise.

“ _ Jay _ ? Visited you? D-Did he  _ ask _ you? T-To come over, I mean,” he inquired, voice attempting to remain neutral, though he was clearly intrigued.

An amused smile lit Barley’s features. “He did not. It was a surprise. But he looked so damn guilty, it was hard to be mad. He said he chose today to visit because you were in school, and he figured it would be for the best if the three of us weren’t together. But we had a good talk. I told him about the… the  _ bullying _ ... with you. Not the sensitive stuff of course. Jay wanted me to know that he had my back if Briar ever got out, or if anyone else was giving us trouble.”

A hopeful grin adorned the junior Lightfoot’s youthful countenance as he allowed himself a show of relief.

“Th-That’s  _ great _ . . . I’m really glad you guys talked,” Ian confessed, allowing himself to relax into his elder that much more. “I guess it’s a little  _ late _ , but I-I really wanna  _ thank  _ you for . . . For doing what you did. For trying to talk to Briar.”

With this, his eyes sank to consider Barley’s busted lip; the swollen wound denying him his hero’s kiss.

“Today was weird . . . But I felt safer than I have in years. A-And I dunno. I hate that this happened. But, I guess I’m glad it did . . . And you did it for  _ me _ , and I just . . .” he shrugged then, a little flush tinting his features as he struggled to explain himself.

“I-I’ve gotta help with dinner, and do some homework. But, I’m gonna come down here in a few hours and show you how thankful I am,” he smirked—completely betrayed by the depth of his flush—before planting another kiss into his brother’s jawline.

And with that, Ian was sliding out from beneath his brother’s embrace, and exiting the room without so much as a second glance.

~*~

No one had forgotten the violent incident at the Aux-Gernons house in the few days leading up to Saturday. But prom certainly was a good distraction. Saturday morning, Barley had pulled his suit out of the closet. Much to Ian’s dismay, it was indeed the one from Colt and Laurel’s wedding. Barley was saving up to help Ian buy the white staff they had seen in the Museum of Magical History, and he wouldn’t be swayed no matter how much Ian hemmed and hawed. 

Barley’s phone buzzed and he reached for it, smiling when he realized who it was. He went down to the bottom of the stairs and called out. “Hey Iandorrrrrre!”

Popping out of the bathroom with a little shuffle, Ian peered over the top of the staircase as though anything unorthodox might be seen. With a roll of his eyes, he descended; footsteps careful, though heavy with morning fatigue as he reached the first floor.

“Uhm,  _ yes _ ?” he asked, sounding a touch grouchy at his verbalized summoning. “You  _ rang _ ?”

“Someone’s here to see you,” Barley said, unable to contain a grin.

He went to the door and opened it, to reveal Sadalia and Jenny smiling and bouncing on their heels. Well, at least Sadalia was smiling. “Surprise!” they laughed before coming in the door. “So,” Sadalia started immediately, “Jenny and I are taking you with us for a spa day. Massages, nails, hair and makeup, everything for prom, and you can do as much or as little as you want. On us, of course!” 

“S- _ Sadie _ ?!  _ Jenny _ ?!” Ian yelped, hands immediately flying to rake through his coiled hair.

As though he’d never been viewed in such a state; which of course wasn’t true. The three of them had seen each other in various states of dress and undress—in and out of hair and makeup, in and out of dressing rooms, in and out of Summer romances . . .

“Aye, _leave_ _it_ , ya li’l creampuff,” Jenny scoffed, crossing her dainty arms and tapping her cloven foot. “Ya don’t go’a look like a wee _princess_ where we’re ‘eaded.”

Sadalia shook her head, giving their vertically challenged friend a playful swat.

“Ian, c’mon babe. We’re taking you out. Go put on some  _ real _ clothes,” she smirked, guiding Jenny inside and nodding toward Barley politely. “ _ By the way, he looks really cute in your shirts _ —” she whispered as Barley closed them in. “You look  _ really _ cute in your brother’s shirts!” she called, as though the mage hadn’t heard her.

“ _ Ge’ on _ with it, lad. We’re  _ waitin’ _ ,” Jenny tossed, watching their lissome friend disappear upstairs.

Uncharacteristic of his customary procrastination, the youngest Lightfoot appeared downstairs not fifteen minutes later; dressed casually enough, but maintained an effortless cool (not quite reflected in his sheepish posture).

“Okay . . . I  _ guess  _ I’m ready?” he sighed, smiling despite himself as he reached for his brother—pulling him into a snug embrace—allowing it to linger.

In truth, Ian wanted to do so much more than simply  _ hug _ .

He wanted to give Barley a playful slap for keeping the girls’ surprise a secret. 

He wanted to  _ kiss  _ him for helping them plan for something like this. 

He wanted to drag him into the bathroom and beg him to fuck him one more time before they departed, because it had already been  _ far  _ too long . . .

“ _ Text me _ ,” he murmured, unable to allow himself the kiss he so desperately yearned for.

And upon releasing the stout gamer from his wiry grasp, the trio made their grand exit; setting off for their first of many planned appointments, leaving Barley to his own devices.

“And  _ you _ , mister,” Laurel said from behind Barley, “Are  _ not  _ off the hook.”

Barley turned around, looking at her suspiciously. “Off the hook from  _ what _ ?”

“Making yourself presentable. This is not a  _ free day _ for you, while your brother is out getting spruced up.”

Perplexed, Barley said, “I was going to  _ shower _ . What else is there to do?” 

Colt merely offered a knowing chuckle from the living room.

~*~

The salon was a charming little cottage with a thatched roof, which had been converted into a business. They had already been through a few treatments when they found themselves getting pedicures, sitting in a row with Jenny in the middle. The satyr watched nervously as the manicurist gently scrubbed her hooves. Sadie, on the other hand, had her eyes closed; one foot in the bubbling foot bath while the other was being worked between two strong hands.

“I’m glad you’re okay with me asking Neighdyn to prom,” Sadalia said again. “I mean, he just looked so  _ sad  _ when he came over to cry on my shoulder about being rejected in favor of your imaginary boyfriend.”

Ian chuckled nervously, rolling his eyes as he forced himself to relax. He had  _ always _ been a bit ticklish, and if it hadn’t been for Sadalia’s suggestion that his ‘ _ boyfriend’ _ may enjoy kissing his feet if they were properly cared for? He would most certainly  _ not  _ be allowing the siren crouched before him to touch them.

Though, admittedly, the very idea of Barley putting his mouth anywhere  _ near  _ his feet brought a flush to his face. And he wasn’t exactly sure why—

“ **_Ay_ ** ! Watch the  _ cleft _ !” Jenny tossed, a scowl marring her (shamefully adorable) face is she bore her teeth at the siren attempting to pamper her. “Fookin’  _ tickles _ —”

“Shush, Jenny,” Ian chided, face tugged into a queasy smirk as he resisted the urge to burst into laughter at the combination of the Satyr’s expression, and the fingers kneading his feet. “Sorry, ma’am. I-It’s her Tourette’s . . .” he nodded in apology, but the woman seemed to ignore him. “If  _ I _ can take it so can  _ you _ ,” he gritted.

Jenny simmered for a moment, then accepted her fate; crossing her arms and muttering to herself in her native tongue.

“I’m really glad he’s going with you, Sadie . . . Maybe you two’ll hit it off?” he wondered, quirking a brow as he peered across at her. “He’s, uhm . . . A great kisser. A-And he always smells nice,” he recounted, teetering his head a bit, distracted from the sensations at his toes. “And he always opens doors . . . Kinda makes me feel like a little kid, b-but  _ you _ might like it—”

“Ya  _ are _ a fookin’  _ kid _ ,” Jenny spat, giving him a side-eye accompanied by a devious little smirk. “That Neighdyn’s a real man . . . We’re  _ all _ li’l kids next ta ‘im.”

Sadie was giggling, clearly pleased with herself. “Well who knows, maybe he’s not the  _ only  _ real man around. Who knows what Ian’s secret boyfriend is like. Tell us about him again, would you?”

Ian’s heart fluttered in his chest as he conjured several memories of his older brother; each one broadening the smile gracing his freckled lips:

“O- _ Oh _ . . . Uhm . . . Well, he’s—He’s incredibly  _ brave _ . . . A-And  _ funny _ , too. He always makes me laugh. But, you know me. I don’t always laugh when I  _ should  _ . . . But it’s like, it doesn’t even  _ phase  _ him. He just keeps trying until he gets a smile outta me. And he’s . . . He’s kind of a nerd—But you know I love that! He’s this awesome writer, and he has all these  _ amazing _ stories,” he rambled, valentine-eyes warm and far-away as he unknowingly made eye contact with Sadalia’s pedicurist—who had at this point completely halted her actions to listen to him—a twinkle in her eyes.

Jenny, on the other hand, carefully glid her emerald gaze over to Sadie, who she was delighted to find was eying her back with a similarly smarmy expression.

“And he’s super strong . . . Like—Being in his arms feels like—It’s like nothing in the world could possibly hurt me. A-And it feels like he knows  _ just _ when to tell me he loves me—”

“ _ Alright _ ,  _ alright _ ,” Jenny quipped, rolling her eyes and allowing herself to sink further into her padded seat. “We ‘ _ eard _ ya. A fairytale  _ prince, _ he is. Fit for a wee princess,” she smirked to Sadalia, not bothering to look back at Iandore, who she knew would be glaring daggers in her direction. “An’ jus’ when do we get to  _ meet _ yer strappin’ young  _ knight _ , Ian?”

At this, the wizard rouged over from his throat to his ears, winding his arms around himself and sinking into his own seat in vibrant shame.

“S- _ Soon _ . . . He’s just—He’s been busy lately. He’s got a lot going on with school and everything. A- _ And _ , he’s been having problems with his  _ car _ lately—”

“What’s wrong with Gwinny?” Sadalia asked offhandedly. And then her eyes snapped open, and she looked over owlishly. Jenny turned to lock eyes with her, the two of them seemingly frozen with panic.

“ _ S-Sorry _ ,” Sadie said quickly, “I-I thought we had s-switched to talking about Barley.” She looked down at her feet, determinedly avoiding Ian’s gaze. 

Ian’s blood ran cold as he studied the panicked expressions on his friends’ faces . . .

Realization hit him then.

He understood the depth in which they’d been toying with him over the past several minutes . . .

But it was a conversation for another time. 

Right now, in front of three gossipy sirens, he would have rather spoken about  _ anything _ else. His former  _ aggressors _ would have been a merrier subject.

“R- _ Right _ . . .” he giggled wryly, looking away just in time for Jenny’s eyes to bore into him.

But when she reached out and offered his pastel arm a loving stroke (and a few tender squeezes)—an entirely uncharacteristic gesture—he felt such a wave of relief. He slowly turned his misted gaze back to his right, taking in his friends’ expressions of compassion.

“Better ‘im than  _ Briar _ , love. Don’t worry yer pretty ‘ead,” Jenny managed a grin, giving him a playful pinch and little wink. “An’  _ that’s _ abou’  **_enough_ ** !” she snapped, yanking her foot away from the siren before her. “Your wearin’ me down to the  **_bone_ ** , you are! When’s the bloody  _ polish _ ?!”

Her comrades traded scoffs—Ian’s laced with a shudder of relief—smacking Jenny from either side.

“Ay! Jus’ fer that, I’m pickin’ out  _ both _ yer polishes!”

~*~

At home, Barley was bossed around left and right, forced to trim his finger and toenails, and shave his neck after a shower. He grumbled as he was forced to sit still in the kitchen, as Laurel fixed the marginal job he’d done on his neck. After that, he had to remain still while she trimmed the fringe of his hair in the back, and styled the top. He could feel her combing it back at an angle, but little pieces were falling into to their usual place no matter what she did.

Barley gritted his teeth as he heard the telltale clopping of hooves, and Colt joined them in the kitchen. “ _ Wow _ ,” Colt said, looking down at his stepson. “You look  _ great _ , kid!” 

Barley’s face reddened, ears drooping with embarrassment. 

“Hey, chin up,” Colt said, slapping Barley on the shoulder. “You’re almost done, by the looks of it. Just gotta fix you with a little makeup.”

Barley sputtered. “Excuse me?!” But when Colt turned to leave again, he focused his attention on his mother, who was opening a box he’d often seen on her dresser. “What’s he talking about?”

“I’m just going to touch up your face a bit,” Laurel said gently.

“Why?!” Barley whined.

Laurel stared at him with deep exasperation, and something else behind it. “Because,  _ sweetie _ , you look like somebody tried to bash your face in.” 

“They uh… they kinda  _ did  _ try.”

“Yes they did,” Laurel said, and Barley realized that she was genuinely upset. She stood there with her hand on her hip, staring down at him where he sat. “I almost lost my son this week, and I am not going to be able to hang up Ian’s prom photos if they remind me of how terrified I was, every time I look at them.”

Barley’s lips had parted. “M-Mom, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You know I don’t regret anything.”

Laurel’s shoulders sagged. “I know, sweetie.” She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. When she finished, she was smiling just a little more. “So, you’re going to sit still while I fix you up. Don’t worry, I won’t put eyeliner on you. Just a little concealer here and there.”

Barley smiled as his mother began to apply whatever it was she was applying. 

“I’ve worn eyeliner to concerts, you know.”

“Yes, and it was terrible.”

“ _ Hey _ , Dad,” Ian sighed, slipping in almost soundlessly and closing the door. His voice was especially warm, causing Colt’s ears to twitch anxiously; but when umber raised to study his willowy form, the centaur nodded cordially—flushing slightly at the familial honorific.

“ _ Well _ . . . Look what the unicorn dragged in,” Colt chuckled, watching as his stepson shifted a bit under his gaze. “You like nice, Ian. Can tell you’ve been gettin’ pampered all day . . . Y’know, your mom’s been in there workin’ hard on your brother. Doin’ a pretty damned good job of it, too,” the officer mused, and Ian’s smile seemed so at-ease, he couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Sounds . . .  _ great _ , actually. O-Oh! And, thanks,” Ian chuckled, brows furrowed as he stepped passed his stepfather’s primetime drama and into the kitchen to appraiser his mother’s dedication. “Hey, Mom . . . Barley,” the lithe magician greeted, honey-glazed voice ringing a bit more sociable than his general nervous stammer.

And there he sat: His brother, primed for the night’s event, cleaner and more polished than he’d ever remembered seeing him.

For the hundredth time in the last several weeks—though perhaps  _ now  _ more than ever—Iandore was reminded that his sibling could have had anyone he’d chosen.

And yet, he’d chosen  _ him _ .

Though with his mother looming between them, there was nothing he could do to show his appreciation for her handiwork.

“Oh  _ wow _ . . . Barley—Mom you did . . .  _ amazing _ . Barley, you look . . .  _ Normal _ . L-Like you were never hurt! A-And you have  _ two _ eyebrows!”

“Y-Yeah,” Barley breathed, lips parting as he took in Ian’s appearance. Barley didn’t have the discernable eye to tell exactly  _ what  _ was different, but in general, Ian looked wonderful. His hair, his skin, and even more, his posture. The cute tilt of his head. That dazzling smile. Ian looked happy, and even more, he looked comfortable. Barley wanted to say something, but every word that came to mind was something he couldn’t say just then.

“You look so refreshed, sweetie!” Laurel beamed, giving Ian a sideways hug. “Oh my boys, so handsome,” she sighed, reaching to squeeze Barley’s shoulder. 

He stood up and swept them both into a tight hug, being careful not to ruffle Ian’s hair.

~*~

That evening, Barley finished putting on his suit, adjusting the collar in the mirror with a skeptical look on his face. For a moment he had a bit of an identity crisis, not trusting the stranger looking back at him. And yet, the stranger didn’t look half bad. 

But then he was done, having decided it wasn’t worth overthinking when he was far more interested in a certain someone upstairs. He went to the bottom of the staircase and called up for the second time that day. “Ready when you are,” he called up. “I’ll be in the living room.” 

After announcing himself, he went to the couch, plopping down and petting Blazey when she curled up on his lap. 

Upstairs—blinking back at himself with a tiny pout—Ian graced his fitted (nearly skin-tight) suit with a subtle set of adjustments. He looked . . . decidedly like himself, with an added silver-lining of accoutrements. Freckled complexion glassy and clear, hair freshly cut and coiffed, the length of his lashes tinted a  _ touch  _ more darkly than he was accustomed to (at Sadalia’s request).

But he was still . . .  _ just Ian _ . At least, that’s all  _ he _ saw.

Stepping out of his mother’s master bathroom (for the use of its full-length mirrors, if nothing else), he made his way downstairs at last; beaming brightly at the completion of his mother’s grand design.

“ _ Wow _ . . .” he mouthed, breathless and lovestruck.

In a humorous light, his brother’s transformation had been the stuff of Laurel’s reality television programming. For all intents and purposes, the brazen gamer had emerged from his mother’s clutches as a changed man. But Iandore failed to see the humor in Barley’s stellar grandeur.

It was all for him, and he appreciated every inch of effort employed.

“ _ Barley _ , I-I . . . I just—You look  _ great _ . Honestly—Did you thank  _ Mom _ ?” he stammered, unable to hold his composure beneath the seismic pressure of his brother’s treasure-stained leer. 

Barley cringed. "Not quite. I may have been accusing her of torturing me all day."

“ _ Mom _ , you did great!” Ian called briskly, unable to pull his gaze from his sibling for long enough to locate her.

“A-Are you ready to go?” he stammered; lips pulled into a prideful smile, but heart aching to confess to his brother the full extent of his feelings.

“Yeah,” Barley said easily, because there was nothing else in the world he’d rather do than be with Ian.

“Hold on you two!” Laurel called out, and Barley took a quick step back, away from Ian. When Laurel entered the room she said, “I just need a picture. I know you’ll have them done there, but I just—You know! Over there by the window.”

After lining them up and taking a few photos to her satisfaction, she kissed and hugged them both, and ushered them out the door. It was already getting dark, and Barley felt his skin buzzing as they climbed into the van. He backed out of the driveway and made it three blocks before pulling over again. He looked at Ian, biting his lip as he smiled. “Sorry, I just… I just  _ have  _ to tell you how beautiful you look. I’m… star-struck.” 

And Ian flushed—crimson and sweet—beneath the quester’s praise.

“Th- _ Thanks _ , babe,” he grinned sheepishly, unable to bite-off the satisfied giggle that bubbled forth. “You look . . .  _ so  _ fucking sexy,” he shook his head in awe, fumbling for a more eloquent admittance. “S-So I hope you’re not  _ too  _ sore? Because if you don’t fuck me tonight while you’re all dressed up, I-I’m gonna  _ cry _ .”

Barley laughed. “Uhm, yeah. If you didn’t end up asking, I was probably going to beg to fuck you. I mean, you just look—And that  _ suit _ —fff….” He leaned in and kissed Ian, careful not to grab his perfectly done hair. “Think anyone would notice if we showed up  _ late _ ?”

Ian’s expression was skewed between humor and lust as he leaned to press another kiss into his brother’s lips—mindful of the carefully concealed damage there.

“U-Unless you can think of a way to do it without messing up Mom’s hard work—A-And Sadie  _ will _ kill me if I show up and my hair’s a mess, after she paid for it,” he mused, lips falling into a pout as he pulled himself back into his seat. “Why don’t you just ruin me after prom, a-and we can tell mom someone spiked the punch, or we danced too hard, or—I don’t  _ care _ .”

Smirking, Barley nodded. He released an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah, I didn’t really think we should. But I just…” He shrugged, gently playing with Ian’s ear. 

Moving back to the wheel, Barley focused his attention again, shifting gears and driving off toward their destination.

The New Mushroomton High School parking lot was busy with people, student cars and two or three limos as well. Barley parked and they climbed out, following the crowd through the front doors and into the school. Ian signed them in, having already received the school’s permission to have an outside guest as his date. Minutes later they were inside, met with music across the auditorium and people dancing under moving lights. 

They turned at the sound of a shrill cheer, Sadie calling out to them from the punch table. “Oh my Gods, look at you two! Ian, I had no idea about the suit!”

Barley couldn’t agree more. Ian looked devastatingly handsome in his slim-fit, wine-red suit. 

“Miladies!” Barley said loftily, “Even the poets of old would struggle for words befitting such beauty!” 

Jenny snorted and Barley winked at her, only turning when clopping hooves signaled Neighdyn’s arrival. He looked sheepish and apologetic as his eyes moved between Barley and Ian. 

“Hey y'all,” he said.

Ian eyed their equine kin with an unreadable expression, taking in the subtle opulence of the man’s deep-forest blazer; not quite meshing with the disheveled bun he hadn’t bothered to restyle in his apathy.

_ ‘Can’t take the country out of the boy,’ _ he’d heard Neighdyn proclaim a time or two.

“ _ Hello _ ,” Ian said coolly, meeting the centaur’s gaze for a split-second—mindful of their audience—before returning his attention to his best friends.

“You two look beautiful,” the magus smiled sweetly, relishing the sight of Sadalia’s scandalous curves in her immaculately tailored dress. “You’re  _ date’s _ here,” he whispered to her as though she wasn’t aware; offering both she and Jenny a fervent embrace.

“D-Did I  _ miss _ anything? Did anyone get here early? What’s Briar’s girlfriend wearing?” he chuckled, toying with the wild ringlets of the Satyr’s auburn hair.

While Ian and the girls spoke, Barley went around to Neighdyn and gave him a stiff hug and a pat on the back. He also gave him a look that indicated that Barley  _ knew something. _ He wouldn’t give Neighdyn the relief of knowing how much he knew, but that was okay. Nobody threw Ian to the wolves and got off scot free. 

They went to get punch and talked, discussing the foreboding black gown that Briar’s now-ex-girlfriend had chosen at the last minute. Conversation turned in a few different directions before three of the other seniors approached them. 

“Hey,” the cyclops said, his attention on Barley. “Are you Ian’s brother? Are you the one who put Briar in jail?”

“I think he put himself in jail,” Barley said, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Look, I don’t really want to even think about—”

“Oh sure, yeah of course,” the cyclops said quickly, and his friends nodded. “We just wanted to say  _ thanks _ , really.”

The satyr with them piped up: “Yeah, it’ll be nice not getting stuffed into any more lockers for the rest of the year.” 

“Or writing two sets of essays,” the tiny goblin agreed. 

Barley smiled nervously, not knowing what to say. 

He turned to Ian for help.

Ian swallowed, placing a hand on the small of Sadalia’s back to halt their conversation as he eyed the mismatched seniors sterilely—something just a bit off in his aura as his ears perked.

“ _ Bastian _ ,” he chuckled, the step in his teeth revealed as he extended his silken hand for a firm shake from the cyclops. “He’s a real live hero, this one,” he smiled, warm and artificial as he elbowed his sibling playfully. “B-But we’re here to . . . celebrate the  _ good _ . N-Not to dwell on the bad.  _ Right _ ?” he smiled, unsure of where he’d been going, but knowing he needed it to end.

There was not a single thing that was going to steal his happiness tonight, if he could help it; but conversations surrounding the events of Monday night—Valhalla forbid the following day—were off to a great start.

“B-But,  _ y’know _ , Barley here is my date for the night, if you hadn’t heard,” he paused to allow the trio a discordant chuckle, “So I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna take him, and—He can give you all his autograph later,” he chuckled—more wryly than he’d intended—as he laced his brother’s calloused fingers within his own.

And so he pulled him away, offering his fellow seniors an awkward wave as he gently guided Barley back to Neighdyn’s side.

“ _ Sorry _ . . . They’re—They shouldn’t have bothered you. O-Or brought that up.”

“That’s okay,” Barley said mildly. “Wasn’t your doing, and I don’t really care.” 

“So!” Sadalia said, interrupting in a purposeful attempt to change the subject. “How about we get our pictures done? I figure we’re all going to look a little worse for wear once we’re on the dance floor, right?”

“Good by me,” Neighdyn said. “Lead the way.”

With Sadalia and Neighdyn at the front of the group, they meandered back through the crowd to the door, and down the hall where a photographer busied herself with a line of students. There was a rustic wooden backdrop shimmering with string lights, and golden balloons strewn around the floor. The line was short, and soon enough they were crowded together while the photographer snapped away. Sadalia insisted on posing with Jenny and Ian first, followed by herself and Neighdyn. 

Ian and Barley were up next, taking a few nice photos for Ian and their mother’s sake. Barley looked around, seeing that the only people nearby now were their friends and one or two couples waiting, and decided to take one another. “Can we do one more?” he asked the photographer.

“Sure!” she said, leaning toward the tripod.

Barley took Ian in his arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek, hearing the camera go off just before he pulled away. In the midst of hoots and hollers from the girls, Barley was too shame-faced to look at either Ian or Neighdyn.

The rush of adrenaline (laced with just a dash of humor) lit Ian’s heart with a steady flutter. Rounded eyes leering at the side of his brother’s bashful face—before quickly dashing to Neighdyn’s—then finally to Sadalia and Jenny’s.

He knew the remainder of the dwindling crowd would take it as a jest. And he  _ also _ knew that his two best friends understood the extent of what the picture would mean to him.

But what of  _ Neighdyn _ ? What would  _ he _ think? Where between those notions would the centaur rest?

“B- _ Barley _ !” Iandore offered a nervous chuckle.

But in his heart, he felt as though he’d been sculpted from neon gold.

What Barley had done came with a little risk, certainly. But it felt  _ so good _ to be kissed before a crowd by a man he’d loved for as long as he could remember. Even  _ if  _ that love had waltzed through several forms over the last decade. 

Their final photograph had been an homage to this blossoming romance, that meant more to Ian than he felt he could ever truly repay.

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Jenny rolled her eyes—though her face was flushed, easily visible through the subtle veil of her foundation—tapping her cloven foot against the ground. “If you fancy lads are done with yer li’l pics, I’d like a  _ drink _ and a  _ dance _ .”

And with a furrow of his brow and another cautious glance at Neighdyn—Ian settled on Barley once again—offering him an adoring smile.

“I-I mean I  _ suck  _ at dancing, but I’m down,” he murmured, more to Barley than to Jenny.

"Well, my specialty is in folk dancing, but I'm ready to partake if you are!"

As the others started walking back towards the dance hall, Barley noticed Neighdyn hanging back, as if his thoughts were keeping him from moving. For a moment their eyes met, and Barley winked. 

If anything, the centaur looked even  _ more  _ confused.

Upbeat dance music was blaring, and after Jenny downed a drink, they all headed out together. Barley was not a good dancer, but he  _ was _ an enthusiastic one.

Ian couldn’t help but giggle at his brother’s attempts, but  _ he  _ wasn’t fairing much better. At least, not in his opinion.  _ Sadalia _ had always been an amazing dancer, on the other hand. And while Neighdyn looked slightly . . .  _ off _ ? Sadie seemed to be making up for his awkwardness with her natural grace.

Jenny, however, looked like a little hurricane. She was somewhere off on her own, as close to the eye of the storm as she could get, doing just about every exaggerated motion known to Satyr-kind. And when Ian cared to glance around the room, it seemed to be a trait inherent to her gene pool.

“I  _ hate  _ this song, but I like dancing to it with you,” Ian raised his voice above the music, flushed and breathless. 

But Barley merely laughed back—grinning with an earnest sort of pride at the pastel enchanter’s timid dancing—until a slower song rotated into the mix. 

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” Ian excused himself, glancing around the room at several others with a similar idea. “I’ll bring you one back,” he promised with a sheepish grin, setting off just as Jenny approached Barley in his stead.

In the back of his mind, he wondered what she might have to say to him . . .

The line for the varieties of punch weren’t incredibly long, but it seemed as though he’d been standing in the same place for several minutes when a firm grip gave his slender arm a cautious squeeze. And as he turned to greet the beckoning stranger, a familiar face peered back at him; ruggedly handsome and slightly somber.

“ _ T-Tanner _ ?”

“That’s my name,” Tanner said flatly. “You got a minute? Somewhere else?” And then quickly he added, “I just wanna talk.”

Battling his greater instincts to honey his voice and submit, Ian’s brows furrowed in a show of visible concern. 

Not for Tanner, but for himself. 

He peered through the swaying disarray of the crowd to find his brother—laughing merrily at one thing or another—and decided that if he was going to talk to Tanner without his sibling’s presence looming over them,  _ now  _ would be the time.

He offered a broken nod, motioning toward a door leading away from the auditorium and into a scarcely occupied hallway. As he followed behind Tanner, he observed the threads of tension in the bigger man’s posture and wondered what precisely this could have been about.

Upon reaching their destination, fawn-like chocolate reached for muted sable; checking for the scar woven through Tanner’s brow as though it would ever fade.

A scar Ian had granted the man himself, a year prior.

“S-So . . . what do you  _ want _ ?”

In the same flat tone, Tanner replied: “I just wanted to get some things straight. What happened with Briar and your brother, that was about you, wasn’t it? About your… um… study sessions with him?”

Biting back a grimace at the mention of his former aggressor, Ian swallowed nervously; rolling his eyes as he offered a reticent nod.

“Y-Yeah,” he shrugged, voice cracking over the admittance, “It was . . . A-And what? What about it?”

He clenched his fists, pressing his lips into tight line as he awaited the taller man’s reply; gaze flitting here and there across his broad frame.

Tanner looked more uncomfortable than he ever had before. He glared daggers at the floor, and then at the walls, and then at the ceiling. Anywhere but the smaller elf in front of him. “It was bad…” he finally said. “Wasn’t it? I always thought—I guess I kinda hoped it wasn’t much different than with  _ us _ . Not as  _ fun _ , maybe,” he glanced at Ian with just the hint of softness in his gaze. “But it wasn’t... It was  _ really _ bad, wasn’t it?”

“What difference does it make to  _ you _ ?” Ian snapped, fists trembling at his sides. “What—Why do you even  _ care _ ? What does it even  _ matter _ ? Y-You don’t even deserve to know! W-What are you just—Just worried I’m gonna  _ tell  _ someone about what  _ you  _ did?!”

Ian had flown into a bout of hysterics, eyes brimming with ire as he clenched his delicate jaw; the very one the man before him had cruelly taken into his calloused grip so many times before.

“M-Maybe I  _ should _ .  **_Huh_ ** ?! Maybe that’s what you  _ deserve _ , Tanner. D-Did you ever think about  _ that _ ? Did you ever think about  _ anything _ you’ve ever done to me?!”

“I think about it all the time,” Tanner said, not raising his voice. “I think about it every time I’m near you, and I hate it. I shoulda—” He looked off to the side again, taking in a breath and exhaling. “I shoulda let you go a long time ago, back when you first wanted to leave. It was just so easy to  _ pretend  _ with you, pretend like I could have what I wanted. And you’re so good at faking. Sometimes I really  _ believed  _ you.” He turned back to Ian, eyes rimmed in red. “I’d always tell myself I wasn’t like the other guys, that I’d never hurt you. But it was stupid because… because not hitting you, not roughing you up, it’s the lowest standard I coulda held for myself. I’ve been hurting you for  _ so long _ . I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m  _ sorry _ .”

And Ian was hollow.

At some point in the sportsman’s confession, he’d allowed his countenance to soften. Perhaps not  _ soften _ , so much as empty out. Peering into this man—who hadn’t always been what he was to him now—felt a little like drowning. 

At least, it did in the moment.

But he only scoffed; raising willowy arms to wrap around himself as he shook his head.

“Do you . . . have any idea how  _ little _ all that means, when you’re telling me  _ this late _ ?”

He allowed his statement to linger, baby-doll eyes null and unfeeling as he watched the remainder of the greater man’s ego disintegrate.

“I-Is that all you  _ wanted _ ? To tell me that you weren’t like Briar? As if I didn’t  _ know _ that? A-As if you could  _ ever _ be what he was?”

But it wasn’t a comfort; it was an insult.

Tanner nodded in agreement, shamefaced. He ran his fingers through his greasy hair and then dropped his hand again. “I  _ know _ , okay? I know it’s too late. And I know you don’t want to see me again, but I swear it, Ian. If you ever need help, you… you know my number. I’ll drop anything and I’ll be there. Anything to make it up to you—”

“Make it  _ up _ to me?—” Ian snorted, taking a step back and heaving a heavy sigh. “You could have  _ made it up  _ to me by not—By not being such a— You  _ know _ something? I-I never understood you,” he broke, dropping his arms to slap them against his thighs in exasperation. “A-And you know what? Maybe I’m  _ never  _ gonna fucking understand. I-I always said, your parents were  _ wrong _ when they told you how stupid you were,” his jaw flexed under the pressure of another clench.

“And I stand by that. M-Maybe,  _ I’m _ the stupid one.  _ Right _ ? Maybe I’m too  _ stupid _ to get it. Too stupid to get why you couldn’t just be  _ proud _ of me. Why you wouldn’t wanna be seen with me in public. Why I wasn’t  _ good _ enough for you— **_Any_ ** of you . . .” he swallowed, rolling his eyes as a single tear escaped him.

“But I know better  _ now _ , Tanner. I-I know what I’m worth, and I know what  _ you’re _ worth. A-A-And I think you have a lot of growing up to do . . . How you can  _ make it up to me _ ? Is to grow the fuck up, and get yourself some  _ help _ . So nobody else has to go through what you put  _ me _ through. I-I think you  _ owe _ me that."

Again, Tanner was nodding in agreement, his lips thinned. “I-I know. I do. Listen—” Tanner reached for Ian, dared to touch him, but quickly pulled his hand back as if Ian were white-hot. His eyes had moved upward, behind the little elf, and he took a step back. 

“Is there a problem here?” Barley asked sharply, coming up from behind Ian. He looked down at his brother, who was quickly wiping his face, and then looked to Tanner with fire in his eyes. “What did you do—?!”

“N-Nothing,” Ian snapped at Barley’s inquiry, glowering at his former assailant with misted eyes. “Tanner was just  _ leaving _ .”

He couldn’t hide his hurt. It was thick in his voice as he watched Tanner readily agree; eying the largest in their midst cautiously as he walked around them, heading back into the auditorium without another word.

“He just wanted to  _ talk _ ,” Ian sniffled, back still turned to his brother as he dabbed at his dewy lashes. “I-I just fucking—freaked out. I-I-It wasn’t his fault. He was trying to apologize,” he croaked, ashamed to look his brother in the eye at the moment. “I just need a minute. I-I’m gonna fix this.”

“Come on,” Barley said, ushering him to a nearby restroom. When they were alone for sure, he wrapped his large arms around Ian, nuzzling against his forehead. “Personally, I think you were overdue for a nice little freak out. You deserved to let it out, and he deserved to hear it. I’m glad he apologized, even if it’s a little fucking late for that.”

As Ian was firmly held, he found that he wasn’t so much mournful as he was _ angry _ —and that anger was slowly giving way to relief. But he wouldn’t cry for too much longer, as fate would have it. 

Before he realized, he was simply leaning himself against his brother’s towering strength; allowing himself to be coddled beneath the sterile fluorescence of the restroom lighting.

“You smell amazing,” he admitted after some time, lifting his head to meet Barley’s flaxen gaze with a sniffle. “Thanks for the hug.” 

And with this, he pivoted up for a little kiss; chaste and brief as he considered their exit. 

“I-I never got my punch . . . Got interrupted,” he chuckled—albeit ruefully—musing over the length of the line at this point.

Barley followed him out of the bathroom. “I don’t know if you mean punching that guy, or fruit punch from the drink table. But I’ll help you with either.”

Rolling his reddened eyes with a little smirk, Ian led them back down the hallway and into the fray of the main event, sending his brother Sadalia and Jenny’s way to explain their situation as he fetched himself (and Barley) the punch he’d been after before his detour.

The line had all but cleared as he approached, and he made short work of his self-appointed errand before rejoining his group; handing a cup off to his older sibling while Sadalia rubbed his arm in a show of wordless support.

“Ay, _fook_ that guy, Ian. ‘E’ll end up workin’ at fookin’ _Swamp_ _Gas_ fer the rest of his sorry days, and yer a bloody _wizard_. Never forge’ that,” Jenny snapped, resting her little hand on his lower back as she looked to Barley. “Shoulda taken his sorry fookin’ _head_ off,” she raved—only to receive playful smacks from both of her elven comrades.

And a brief pause was followed by twinkling laughter; the trio’s mood immediately lightened as they tossed friendly jabs to-and-fro.

But when Iandore finally looked to his brother, all was forgotten. He was here with the one who mattered most, on a night that was already brimming with its own unique magic.

Prom was an ephemeral happening that neither laughter nor tears could sway. 

They danced to exhaustion; the heat of bodies around them, flashes of lights above, and music pounding in tapered ears. The songs halted for a while as the prom queen and king were announced, two people that Barley didn’t recognize, and whom Ian and his friends had little reaction to.

The night was nearly at its end when the group of friends decided to head out a song or two early. Embraces were exchanged in the fresh outdoor air, and then Ian and Barley returned to the van. 

“So!” Barley said, pulling onto the road. “Drama aside, was it everything you hoped and dreamed of?”

“And more,” Ian smiled, a bit flushed from his night of activity—admittedly more exercise than he’d engaged in for the entire year. “I had so much  _ fun  _ with you, Barley . . . Thanks for . . . For making me go,” he finished with a grin, a twinkle in his eyes as they reflected the streetlights lining their path.

“A-And . . . I couldn’t help but notice mom tailored your suit.”

It wasn’t a sigh, and it wasn’t a purr; but whatever it was sounded of warm nectar leaving his lips. He allowed his gaze to trail along his brother’s driving form; strong arms gripped tightly by the pinstriped fabric of the man’s blazer.

Barley’s face began to feel hot under Ian’s appraisal. He swallowed, glancing sideways at him, in his rich, wine-colored suit, which really was  _ incredibly _ fitted. 

“Y-Yeah,” he finally managed before clearing his throat. “There’s just one more thing. A stop we have to make.” 

Ian looked curious, but Barley just smiled, not giving him any more information. Eventually they arrived at a dingy-looking rest stop surrounded by willow trees, devoid of anyone else. Barley pulled up to the building, in front of which was a glowing vending machine. 

“You recognize this place?” Barley asked. 

Ian started off by shaking his head—then realization struck him. 

He wasn’t sure what to think. 

He looked to Barley, then back to the ominous scarlet glow of the Elixr vending machine . . .

“This . . . This is where we came with—” he swallowed, peering into the rouge halo as though it were a world-wonder. 

His visage softened as he adjusted himself in his seat nervously; tugged between several emotions as he looked to his brother. 

“With  _ Dad _ . . .” he smiled, gentle and aimless as he studied the older man’s crimson-lit features for a time. 

“So . . . Why are we  _ here _ ?”

“Because…” Barely released a breath. “Because this is where I learned that we can get through anything. It’s where you started to  _ believe  _ in me. It’ll always be important.”

Barley reached for the glove compartment and pulled out a cassette tape, then popped it into the player. Although one would have expected a certain gritty style from Barley, the music that began playing was entirely the opposite. It was a woman’s voice, soft and velvety, easing through a languid melody. Barley climbed out of the vehicle and stood on the concrete, reaching for Ian and beckoning him over. “Come on. It’s prom night, and you’re gonna slow dance with me.”

Ian’s heart skipped a beat.

He saw it happening before his very eyes, and heard the music showering from the speakers . . . 

But the idea of a  _ dance _ ?

_ Another _ dance. 

Their  _ second _ dance here.

Here in this place where so many emotions were shared two years prior. 

Here, where everything had begun to change between them . . .

He slid out of Guinevere, leaving his door ajar to allow the lush sweep of music to wash over their concrete dancefloor; stepping up to his brother with an adoring modesty.

“Can’t believe you still even  _ wanna _ dance,” he smiled—offering a laugh as his brother drew him close and led them into a steady rhythm. “W-Where did you get this tape?”

“Just a music store,” Barley said, “I asked for help, admittedly.” He held Ian’s waist as they turned, a slow rotation that was easy to keep up. 

Dancing with Ian felt right, in the most simple and beautiful way. Barley felt a sense of permanence that he hadn’t before. 

There had been a faceless stranger haunting him for a while. One who was perfect for Ian. Someone he’d have to let go of him for. 

But for the first time, that future didn’t seem so clear. Maybe  _ he  _ could be the one. 

Barley held onto Ian tighter, as if holding onto that possibility. 

“Help is always good,” Ian smiled, eyes glimmering with reverence as the music glid between them.

He followed Barley’s steps, swaying gently to the dulcet tones of the voice pouring from the second-hand sound system . . .

“Y-You  _ know _ ,” he began, a coy smile tugging at the fullness of his lips. “We’re . . . not in front of a  _ crowd _ anymore,” he continued, observing as his sibling quirked a dense brow. “So, y’know. You can _ kiss me _ anytime you  _ want _ .”

And without missing a beat, Barley captured the sweetness of his junior’s lips within his own; unrefined bristle meeting cashmere softness in a moment of passion and bliss.

They allowed themselves innumerable slow dances—reaching the end of the tape, and extending beyond it—eventually coming to rest against the fragranced warmth of each other’s bodies, swaying instead to the sound of Barley’s ambivalent humming. 

The rumble of the Quest Master’s scuffed baritone sent the occasional shiver through Iandore’s lissome frame, and there was nowhere else in the entire world he would have rather been.

Right there, in the arms of the man he loved, with nothing but the lull of his voice backed by a nacreous choir of cricket-song.

This was happiness.

This was  _ love _ .

**_The End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for supporting us on this wonderful journey! Our adventure has gone on for months of writing, and now we've reached the end of sharing it with you. If you would like to see upcoming artwork of characters from Butterfly Kisses, as well as other Barlian content, please check out motherofrevel's twitter, @indielovedarlin! Thank you again from both of us!


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